SHELLEY 

THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 


By 
A.  CLUTTON-BROCK 


PAULINE  FORE  MOFFITT 
LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
GENERAL  LIBRARY,  BERKELEY 


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/9JS 


SHELLEY 

THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 


SHELLEY 
From  the  fainting  by  Miss  A»ielia  Curran  in  the  National  Portrait  Gallery 


SHELLEY 

THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 


BY 

A.   CLUTTON-BROCK 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 


NEW  YORK 

E.    P.    DUTTON   AND   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


PRINTED    IN    GREAT    BRITAIN 


PREFACE   TO  THE    FIRST 
EDITION 

I  HAVE  said  what  I  owe  to  Professor  Dowden's 
"  Life  of  Shelley "  in  my  Introduction.  I 
am  also  indebted  to  Mr.  W.  M.  Rossetti's  Memoir, 
to  Mr.  Buxton  Forman  for  his  edition  of  Shelley's 
Prose  Works,  to  Mrs.  Marshall  for  her  "  Life  of 
Mary  Shelley,"  and  to  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell  for  his 
edition  of  "  Shelley's  Letters  to  Miss  Hitchener." 
I  have  taken  the  text  of  the  Poems  from  the  excel- 
lent edition  published  by  the  Clarendon  Press  and 
edited  by  Mr.  Thomas  Hutchinson.  My  other 
obligations  are  so  many  that  I  cannot  even  remem- 
ber them  all.  So  I  here  make  a  general  if  unsatis- 
factory acknowledgment  of  them.  I  have  also  to 
thank  the  Editor  of  the  New  Quarterly  for  allow- 
ing me  to  incorporate  part  of  an  article  which 
was  published  in  that  magazine  in  my  chapter 
on  M  Prometheus  Unbound." 

A.  CLUTTON-BROCK 
June  10,  igog 


PREFACE   TO   THE    SECOND 

EDITION 

EDWARD  THOMAS,  reviewing  this  book  when 
it  was  first  published,  said  that  I  had  offered 
much  posthumous  advice  to  Shelley.  The  phrase 
pleased  me  then ;  and,  now  that  I  am  twelve 
years  older  and,  I  hope,  wiser,  I  am  less  ready  to 
offer  advice,  even  to  the  living.  I  have  therefore 
admitted  the  justice  of  Thomas'  criticism  by 
cutting  out  of  this  edition  most  of  those  passages 
which  provoked  it.  It  is  shorter  and,  I  think, 
better  than  the  first. 

At  the  end  of  an  Introduction  which  is  now 
omitted,  I  said  that  I  would  rather  be  unjust  to 
Shelley  myself  than  set  others  against  him  by  my 
own  partiality.  I  wrote  the  book  in  a  state  of 
reaction  against  the  partisanship  of  biographers, 
and  also  against  the  notion,  common  then  and  not 
uncommon  now,  that  Shelley  was  polygamous  be- 
cause he  was  a  great  poet,  and  that  the  polygam- 
ous have  a  better  chance  of  being  great  poets  than 
the  monogamous.  But  such  reactions,  though 
they  may  make  a  book  amusing  or  irritating  at 
the  moment,  are  likely  to  carry  a  writer  beyond 
the  truth.     The  swing  of  the  pendulum  is  a  move- 


PREFACE   TO   THE    SECOND   EDITION 

ment  useful  in  clocks  but  not  in  the  human  mind  ; 
and  to  write  justly  on  any  subject  it  is  necessary 
to  forget  what  fools,  other  fools,  have  said  about 
it.  I  will  confess  now  that  I  wished  to  irritate 
a  certain  kind  of  person  ;  and  the  reviews  con- 
vinced me  that  I  had  succeeded.  There  was  one 
reviewer  who  worshipped  Shelley  because  he  was 
a  vegetarian.  He  was  so  passionately  humane 
himself  that  he  needed  a  God  who  had  explicitly 
condemned  animal  sacrifice,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  I  had  blasphemed  against  his  Deity. 
He  therefore  took  two  fragments,  which  in  my 
book  were  separated  by  several  pages  of  print, 
made  one  sentence  of  them  which  resembled 
nothing  I  had  ever  said  or  meant  to  say,  and  quoted 
it  indignantly  against  me.  Only  moral  indignation 
could  have  tempted  so  good  a  man  into  such 
immorality ;  but  I  have  noticed,  in  the  case  of 
Shelley  himself,  of  this  reviewer,  and  of  others, 
that  vegetarians  are  not  so  mild  as  one  might 
expect  from  their  diet.  Shelley  indeed  was,  I 
think,  fiercer  than  I  have  depicted  him.  Most 
people  get  their  idea  of  his  appearance,  and  even 
of  his  character,  from  Miss  Curran's  portrait ; 
but  Peacock  said  that  Leisman's  portrait  of  him- 
self in  the  Uhizi  was  more  like  Shelley  ;  and  it  has 
no  likeness  to  Miss  Curran's  picture.  In  expres- 
sion, it  is  fierce,  eager  and  troubled,  resembling 
rather  the  Shelley  described  by  Trelawny  than 
the  Shelley  of  legend.  Mr.  Laurence  Binyon 
complained  that  I  had  said  too  little  of  Shelley's 

vii 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

eloquence ;  and  his  complaint  was  just.  Those 
who  knew  Shelley  well  were  struck  by  it.  He 
habitually  spoke  with  imperious  vehemence,  and 
even  Byron  was  silent  before  him.  He  had,  in 
fact,  a  strong  and  even  violent  character  which 
expressed  itself  in  action  and  in  speech.  His 
gentleness  was  kept  for  the  humble  and  meek  ;  for 
he  was,  as  Trelawny  said,  a  natural  gentleman. 

I  may  also  have  insisted  too  much  on  Shelley's 
growing  wisdom.  I  have  cut  out  most  of  the 
passages  in  which  I  did  so  ;  for  it  seems  to  me  now, 
that,  as  his  powers  increased,  he  became  more, 
not  less,  unfitted  for  this  life.  Mr.  Hewlett  thinks 
that  he  was  longing  for  death  at  the  end  of  his 
life  because  he  had  fallen  out  of  love  with  Mary 
and  into  love  with  Jane  Williams ;  but  his  growing 
unhappiness  had,  I  think,  a  deeper  and  more 
permanent  cause.  He  found  himself  less  and  less 
able  to  be  in  love  with  any  actual  human  being  or 
content  with  any  actual  circumstances.  He  was 
"  borne  darkly,  fearfully  afar  "  ;  and  the  accident 
of  his  death  cut  the  knot  which  he  would  never 
have  been  able  to  untie. 

But,  apart  from  these  errors  of  judgment,  it 
does  not  now  seem  to  me  that  I  have  related  the 
facts  of  his  life  unfairly  or  with  any  misplaced 
emphasis ;  and  from  those  facts  the  reader  can 
form  his  own  conclusions. 

A.  CLUTTON-BROCK 

GODALMING 
1922 

viii 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

I  Childhood  and  Boyhood  . 

II  Oxford      ..... 

III  Shelley's  First  Marriage 

IV  "Queen  Mab  ". 
V  The  Break  with  Harriet 

VI     "  Alastor  " 

VII  The  Swiss  Tour  and  the  Death  of 

Harriet         .... 

VIII  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "  and  other 

Works  .... 

IX     The  Departure  to  Italy. 

X     "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  and  "  The 
Cenci  "  .... 

XI     "  The  Witch  of  Atlas  "  and  "  Epipsy 
chidion  "       .  .         ,  . 

XII     "  The  Defence  of  Poetry  "  and  Shel 
ley's  /Esthetics   . 

XIII  "  Adonais  "  and  "  Hellas  "      . 

XIV  The  Last  Year 

Conclusion        .... 

Index        ..... 

ix 


PAGE 
I 

15 

33 
84 

91 
117 

126 

154 

171 

194 
225 

251 

260 

279 

307 
315 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Shelley       .....  Frontispiece 

From  the  Painting  by  Miss  Amelia  Curran  in 
the  National  Portrait  Gallery 

FACING   PAGE 

Field  Place         ......         6 

From  an  Etching  by  Arthur  Evershed 

Reproduced  from  Shelley's  Prose  Works  by  kind 
permission  of  H.  Buxton  Forman,  Esq. 

Casa  Magni,  San  Terenzo   .         .  .  .288 

From  an  Etching  by  Arthur  Evershed  after 
the  Water-colour  by  Henry  Roderick  New- 
man 

Reproduced   from   Shelley's   Prose  Works   by 
kind  permission  of  H.  Buxton  Forman,  Esq. 

Shelley's  Grave  .....      306 

From  an  Engraving  by  W.  B.  Scott 

Reproduced  from  Shelley's  Poetical  Works  by 
kind  permission  of  H.  Buxton  Forman,  Esq. 


XI 


SHELLEY 

THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

CHAPTER     I 
CHILDHOOD  AND   BOYHOOD 

IT  has  often  been  said  that  Shelley  came  of  a  stock 
of  commonplace  country  gentlemen.  This 
is  not  true.  Our  knowledge  of  the  family  is 
small,  but  the  few  facts  we  know  about  Timothy 
Shelley,  his  father,  and  Bysshe,  his  grandfather, 
prove  that  they  were  odd,  if  not  remarkable. 
Bysshe  Shelley  was  born  in  America  in  1731, 
where,  according  to  Medwin,1  the  poet's  cousin, 
he  began  life  as  a  quack  doctor.  If  that  is  so, 
he  must  have  given  up  the  trade  very  soon  ;  for 
at  the  age  of  twenty-one  he  was  in  England,  where 
he  ran  away  at  once  with  an  heiress,  to  whom 
he  is  said  to  have  been  married  by  the  Parson  of 
the  Fleet.  His  first  wife  died  young,  and  after  a 
decent  interval  he  ran  away  with  another  heiress, 
whom  he  also  survived.  Fortunate,  like  Austria, 
in  his  marriages,  he  became  a  very  rich  man,  and 
in  1806  was  made  a  baronet  for  his  services  to  the 

1  Medwin  is  not  to  be  trusted  either  for  facts  or  for 
judgment. 

1  I 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Whigs.     Medwin  tells  us  that  he  was  a  remarkably 

handsome  man,  fully  six  feet  high,  and  with  a 

noble   and   aristocratic   bearing,    but   adds   that 

"  his  life  was  unredeemed  by  one  good  action." 

Shelley  wrote  of  him  in  1812  :    "  He  is  a  complete 

Atheist,  and  builds  all  his  hopes  on  annihilation. 

He  has  acted  very  ill  to  three  wives.1    He  is  a 

bad  man.     I  never  had  any  respect  for  him.     I 

always  regarded  him  as  a  curse  on  society.     I  shall 

not  grieve  at  his  death  ;  I  will  not  wear  mourning. 

I  will  not  attend  his  funeral.     I  shall  think  of 

his  departure  as  that  of  a  hard-hearted  reprobate." 

But  the  very  lady  to  whom  this  was  written  was 

then  the  sister  of  Shelley's  soul  and  afterwards  a 

brown  demon. 

It  may  be  only  the  misfortune  of  Sir  Bysshe 

that  we  know  no  good  of  him.     He  was  a  man 

about   whom   legends   would  gather   easily.     He 

spent   £80,000   upon   building   Castle   Goring   in 

Sussex,  but  lived  himself  in  a  miserly  way  in  a 

cottage  at  Horsham  with  one  servant  to  wait  on 

him.     He  would  often  sit  in  the  taproom  of  an 

inn,  not  drinking,  but  talking  politics.     He  had  a 

liking  for  Shelley  and  paid  for  the  printing  of  some 

of  his  childish  writings.     But  he  disliked  his  own 

son  Timothy,  and  would  swear  at  him  whenever 

Timothy  came  to  visit  him  in  his  cottage.     Indeed 

Hogg  says  that  Shelley  learnt  to  curse  his  father 

from  his  grandfather.    When  Sir  Bysshe  died  in 

1815,  bank-notes  to  the  amount  of  £10,000  were 

1  There  is  a  vague  story  of  a  first  wife  in  America. 

2 


CHILDHOOD  AND   BOYHOOD 

found  in  his  room,  some  in  his  books,  some  in 
the  folds  of  his  sofa,  some  sewn  into  the  lining  of 
his  dressing-gown.  We  know  nothing  about  him 
except  his  oddities,  so  that  he  seems  more  like  a 
character  in  an  artificial  comedy  than  a  real  man. 
Timothy  Shelley,  the  poet's  father,  was  born  in 
1753,  so  that  he  was  sixty-two  when  he  succeeded 
to  the  baronetcy  and  the  large  fortune  which  Sir 
Bysshe  had  increased  by  saving.  It  appears  that 
he  got  no  good  from  his  father  beyond  money 
and  the  title  in  his  old  age,  and  that  Shelley  got 
little  good  from  him.  He  seems  to  have  had  a 
better  heart  and  a  worse  understanding  than 
Sir  Bysshe.  He  was  at  University  College,  Oxford, 
and  then  made  the  Grand  Tour,  from  which  he 
brought  back,  according  to  Medwin,  "  a  smatter- 
ing of  French,  and  a  bad  picture  of  an  eruption 
of  Vesuvius."  His  letters  show  that  he  had  little 
education  and  no  natural  power  of  expressing 
himself  in  words.  Yet  he  professed  to  be  a  dis- 
ciple of  Chesterfield  and  La  Rochefoucauld,  and 
had  "  a  certain  air,  miscalled  that  of  the  old 
school,  which  he  could  put  off  and  on  as  occasion 
served."  Medwin  says  that  he  once  told  Shelley 
'  he  would  provide  for  as  many  natural  children 
as  he  chose  to  get,  but  that  he  would  never  forgive 
his  making  a  mesalliance."  All  who  have  written 
about  him  insist  upon  his  unfitness  to  be  the 
father  of  Shelley,  but  Shelley  would  have  been 
a  difficult  son  for  a  sage.  Timothy  seems  to  have 
tried  to  do  his  duty  by  his  son,  but  he  had  no 

3  . 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

idea  how  to  do  it ;  and  he  could  never  induce  his 
son,  or  probably  anyone  else,  to  take  him  seriously. 
No  doubt  he  amused  those  over  whom  he  had 
no  power.  To  his  son  he  seemed  a  mere  nuisance. 
Shelley,  from  an  early  age,  was  fastidious  about 
manners  and  appearance  ;  and  his  father  was 
absurd  in  both.  Shelley  could  love  no  one  whom 
he  did  not  think  perfect ;  and  his  father's  imper- 
fections were  obvious.  Shelley,  like  a  clever 
girl,  expected  every  one  to  be  consistent ;  and 
his  father  had  no  consistency.  He  would  pro- 
fess the  most  liberal  opinions  and  then  play  the 
tyrant  in  trifles.  He  thought  himself  an  esprit 
fort,  but  was  afraid  of  the  world.  To  Shelley  he 
seemed  morally,  intellectually,  and  aesthetically 
contemptible,  a  symbol  of  all  that  irrational 
authority  against  which  it  was  his  duty  to  rebel. 
Shelley's  moral  sense  was  precociously  and 
morbidly  developed.  He  was  too  much  in  love 
with  abstract  perfection  to  make  any  allowances  for 
the  concrete  imperfection  of  his  father ;  and  since 
he  turned  every  one  he  knew  into  a  character  of 
romance,  he  turned  his  father,  who  was  unfitted 
for  the  part,  into  a  villain  of  melodrama. 

Little  is  known  of  Shelley's  mother.  She  was 
a  Miss  Pilfold  of  Effingham  in  Surrey,  and  married 
Timothy  in  1791.  She  is  said  to  have  been  beauti- 
ful in  her  youth.  She  had  better  abilities  than 
her  husband,  but  no  taste  for  literature.  Shelley 
called  her  mild  and  tolerant,  but  narrow-minded. 
She  wished  him  to  be  a  sportsman,  and  would 

4 


CHILDHOOD  AND   BOYHOOD 

send  him  out  with  a  keeper  to  fish  or  shoot.  The 
keeper  did  the  necessary  slaughter,  while  Shelley 
read  a  book. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  the  eldest  child  of  the 
marriage,  was  born  on  August  4,  1792.  The  rest 
of  the  family  consisted  of  five  daughters,  one  of 
whom  died  in  infancy,  and  another  son,  John,  who 
was  born  in  1806,  and  lived  to  the  age  of  sixty. 
While  Bysshe  Shelley  lived  in  a  cottage  at  Hor- 
sham, his  son  Timothy  inhabited  Field  Place,  in 
the  parish  of  Warnham,  about  two  miles  away. 
Here  Shelley  was  born  and  spent  his  childhood. 
The  house,  built  in  the  eighteenth  century,  has 
some  dignity.  Not  far  away  is  St.  Leonard's 
Forest,  still  a  wild  place,  with  the  legend  of  a 
serpent  that  moved  upon  feet  and  was  three 
yards  long.  In  the  garden  of  Field  Place  there 
was  a  real  snake  of  unusual  size  that  was  said  to 
have  outlived  several  generations  of  men.  Shelley 
often  spoke  of  it ;  and  it  was  perhaps  the  origin  of 
his  liking  for  serpents,  though  the  curse  laid  upon 
them  in  Genesis  would  account  for  that. 

We  get  most  of  the  stories  of  Shelley's  childhood 
from  his  sister  Hellen.  They  might  be  told  of 
any  clever  child  without  arousing  expectation  of 
genius.  It  is  clear  that  he  began  early  to  live  in 
a  romance  of  his  own,  as  unlike  real  life  as  he 
could  make  it.  Many  children  do  this ;  but 
boys  usually  sacrifice  it  to  reality  when  they  go 
to  a  private  school ;  girls,  when  they  marry,  if 
not  before. 

5 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Shelley's  life  of  romance  did  not  end  with  school. 
Indeed  it  thickened  about  him  as  he  grew  up, 
and  all  facts  were  moulded  and  coloured  to  suit 
it.  At  first,  of  course,  it  was  all  invention.  He 
would  take  his  little  sisters  on  his  knee  and  tell 
them  wonderful  and  dreadful  stories.  He  said 
that  a  closed  garret  under  the  roof  was  inhabited 
by  an  alchemist  with  a  long  beard,  and  that  a 
great  tortoise  lived  in  Warnham  Pond  and  made 
any  strange  noise  that  might  be  heard.  He 
would  dress  himself  and  his  sisters  up  to  represent 
fiends  or  spirits.  Like  many  clever  children  he 
would  describe  events  which  had  never  happened. 
Once  he  gave  minute  details  of  a  visit  he  had  paid 
to  some  ladies,  and  it  was  discovered  almost  at 
once  to  be  all  an  invention.  He  was  fond,  as  in 
later  years,  of  any  kind  of  make-believe  and  mystifi- 
cation. Once  he  was  discovered  setting  out  dis- 
guised as  a  countryman  with  a  truss  of  hay, 
which  he  was  going  to  take  to  a  young  lady  at 
Horsham,  that  she  might  have  some  hay  tea  for 
her  chilblains.  Once  he  called  on  a  neighbour 
and  asked  in  the  Sussex  dialect  to  be  employed 
as  a  gamekeeper's  boy.  The  neighbour  engaged 
him,  whereupon  he  betrayed  himself  by  bursting 
into  laughter. 

He  was  affectionate  to  every  one  except  his 
father.  His  sister  Margaret  remembered  how  he 
came  back  from  school  once  in  term  time  to  be 
nursed  of  an  illness,  and  how  he  kissed  her  through 
a  pane  of  glass  in  the  dining-room  window.     It 

6 


FIELD    I'LACE 
From  an  etching  by  Arthur  Evershed 


CHILDHOOD   AND   BOYHOOD 

is  both  pleasant  and  sad  to  hear  these  simple 
stories  of  the  childhood  of  one  who  lost  his  home 
so  early,  and  was  a  wanderer  all  the  days  of  his  life. 
At  six  years  old  Shelley  began  to  learn  Latin  of  a 
Welsh  clergyman.  At  ten  he  was  sent  as  a  boarder 
to  Sion  House  Academy  at  Isleworth,  where  he 
found  his  second  cousin  and  future  biographer, 
Thomas  Medwin,  who  was  some  years  older  than 
himself.  Medwin  gives  us  a  conventional  account 
of  the  schooldays  of  a  poet.  With  the  other  boys, 
he  says,  Shelley  passed  for  a  strange,  unsocial 
being,  but  he  himself  very  easily  learned  to  pene- 
trate into  this  soul  sublime.  Another  fellow- 
pupil  remembered  Shelley  as  "  like  a  girl  in  boy's 
clothes,  fighting  with  open  hands,  and  rolling  on 
the  floor  when  flogged,  not  from  the  pain,  but 
from  a  sense  of  indignity."  The  Headmaster 
was  a  Doctor  Greenlaw,  a  Scot,  "not  wanting  in 
good  qualities,  but  very  capricious  in  his  temper." 
He  did  not  like  Shelley,  because  Shelley  would 
not  laugh  at  his  jokes.  It  was  at  Sion  House 
that  Shelley  first  got  a  taste  for  the  romantic  tales 
of  Anne  Radcliffe  and  other  writers  of  the  same 
kind,  who  were  then  very  popular.  After  reading 
them  he  had  fearful  dreams,  and  walked  in  his 
sleep,  for  which  he  was  punished.  He  also  became 
precociously  sentimental.  At  the  age  of  eleven 
or  twelve  he  would  talk  with  a  friend  of  the  ladies 
with  whom  they  were  in  love.  "  I  remember," 
he  said  afterwards,  "  that  our  practice  was  to 
confirm  each  other  in  the  everlasting  fidelity  in 

7 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

which  we  had  bound  ourselves  towards  them, 
and  towards  each  other.  I  recollect  thinking  my 
friend  exquisitely  beautiful.  Every  night,  when 
we  parted  to  go  to  bed,  we  kissed  each  other  like 
children,  as  we  still  were,"  This  pretty  passage 
seems  to  prove  that  Shelley  never  went  through 
the  ordinary  prosaic  stage  of  boyhood.  On  the 
one  hand,  he  had  the  vague  dreams  of  a  youth  ; 
on  the  other,  the  delicate  simplicity  of  a  child. 
In  many  things  he  was  more  like  a  girl  than  a  boy. 

It  was  also  at  Sion  House  that  he  got  his  first 
enthusiasm  for  science,  from  hearing  some  lectures 
on  chemistry  and  astronomy.  He  was  "  delighted 
at  the  idea  of  a  plurality  of  worlds."  He  looked 
at  Saturn  through  a  telescope,  and,  unlike  most 
astronomers,  found  in  its  atmosphere  "  an  irre- 
fragable proof  of  its  being  inhabited  like  our 
globe."  He  was  "  enchanted  with  the  idea  that 
we,  as  spirits,  should  make  the  grand  tour  through 
the  heavens." 

When,  in  1804,  he  went  to  Eton  at  the  age  of 
twelve,  he  was  as  little  fitted  for  a  public  school 
as  any  boy  well  could  be.  He  was  known  as  mad 
Shelley,  and  is  said  to  have  led  a  rebellion  of 
small  boys  against  fagging.  He  was  called  '  the 
Atheist,"  and  this,  according  to  Hogg,  was  an 
official  title  given  to  him,  not  because  he  did  not 
believe  in  God,  but  because  he  was  a  daring  rebel. 
He  was  once  the  principal  in  a  fight,  and  walked 
about  beforehand  reciting  lines  from  Homer ; 
but  they  brought  him  no  luck,  for  he  was  easily 

8 


CHILDHOOD   AND   BOYHOOD 

defeated.  He  would  not  play  games,  and  was 
sometimes  "  baited  like  a  maddened  bull."  Yet 
Mary  Shelley  says  that  he  formed  several  sincere 
friendships  at  Eton,  and  that,  although  disliked 
by  the  masters  and  hated  by  older  boys,  he  was 
admired  by  his  equals.  His  lessons  are  said  to 
have  been  child's-play  to  him,  though  his  Latin 
verses  were  full  of  false  quantities.  He  made 
violent  and  dangerous  experiments  in  chemistry, 
and  bought  a  galvanic  battery  which  his  tutor 
once  laid  hold  of,  receiving  a  shock  which  flung  him 
back  against  the  wall.  He  would  send  up  fire 
balloons,  and  tried  to  draw  lightning  from  the 
skies  with  an  electric  kite.  Altogether  he  must 
have  got  some  pleasure  from  his  schooldays. 

At  Eton  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Dr. 
Lind,  who  had  some  reputation  as  a  surgeon  and 
physician,  though,  like  Shelley,  he  was  inclined 
to  violent  experiments.  Shelley  said  afterwards 
that  he  was  exactly  what  an  old  man  ought  to  be, 
free,  calm-spirited,  full  of  benevolence  and  even 
of  youthful  ardour.  Shelley  also  had  a  wild  story 
to  the  effect  that  once  when  he  was  recovering 
from  a  brain  fever,  the  proper  complaint  for  a  hero 
of  romance,  a  servant  overheard  his  father  planning 
to  send  him  to  a  private  madhouse.  The  servant 
told  Shelley  of  this  design  as  he  lay  in  bed.  His 
horror  was  beyond  words,  but  he  had  one  hope. 

He  sent  an  express  to  Dr.  Lind,  who  came  to 
him  at  once,  and  dared  his  father  to  execute  his 
purpose.     "  His  menaces  had  the  desired  effect." 

9 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Hogg  thinks  the  story  was  a  delusion  produced 
by  the  fever.  It  took  less  than  a  fever  to  produce 
romantic  delusions  in  Shelley's  mind.  This  one 
is  only  worth  mentioning  because  his  father 
appeared  in  it  as  a  melodramatic  villain. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Lind  left  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  Shelley's  memory.  Bagehot  remarks 
that  Shelley  seems  to  have  distrusted  old  men  and 
was  apt  to  make  them  wicked  in  his  poems.  The 
exceptions  are  the  Hermit  in  "The  Revolt  of 
Islam,"  and  Zonoras,  the  friend  of  Prince  Athanase. 
Dr.  Lind  was  the  model  for  both,  though  they 
do  not  give  us  a  very  lively  idea  of  him. 

There  are  several  recollections  of  his  boyhood 
in  the  poetry  of  his  later  years  ;  and  from  two  of 
these  it  appears  that  he  twice  experienced  some 
kind  of  religious  conversion,  in  which  the  signifi- 
cance of  reality  and  the  purpose  of  his  life  seemed 
to  be  suddenly  made  clear  to  him.  We  cannot 
tell  how  far  these  were  heightened  in  the  telling 
or  in  his  own  remembrance  of  them.  Most  real 
things  were  heightened  or  abased  in  Shelley's  mind. 
But  they  shall  be  given  in  his  own  words. 

In  the  Dedication  to  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "  he 
wrote  : — 

"I  do  remember  well  the  hour  which  burst 
My  spirit's  sleep  :    a  fresh  May-dawn  it  was, 
When  I  walked  forth  upon  the  glittering  grass, 

And  wept,  I  knew  not  why  ;    until  there  rose 
From  the  near  schoolroom,  voices,  that,  alas  ! 

Were  but  one  echo  from  a  world  of  woes — 

The  harsh  and  grating  strife  of  tyrants  and  of  foes. 

10 


CHILDHOOD  AND  BOYHOOD 

And  then  I  clasped  my  hands  and  looked  around — 
But  none  was  near  to  mock  my  streaming  eyes, 

Which  poured  their  warm  drops  on  the  sunny  ground, 
So,  without  shame,  I  spake  : — '  I  will  be  wise, 
And  just,  and  free,  and  mild,  if  in  me  lies 

Such  power,  for  I  grow  weary  to  behold 
The  selfish  and  the  strong  still  tyrannise 

Without  reproach  or  check.'     I  then  controlled 

My  tears,  my  heart  grew  calm,  and  I  was  meek  and  cold." 

In  the  "  Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty  "  there  is 

this  passage : — 

"  While  yet  a  boy  I  sought  for  ghosts,  and  sped 
Through  many  a  listening  chamber,  cave,  and  ruin, 
And  starlight  wood,  with  fearful  steps  pursuing 
Hopes  of  high  talk  with  the  departed  dead. 
I  called  on  poisonous  names  with  which  our  youth  is  fed  ; 

I  was  not  heard — I  saw  them  not — 

When  musing  deeply  on  the  lot 
Of  life,  at  that  sweet  time  when  winds  are  wooing 

All  vital  things  that  wake  to  bring 

News  of  birds  and  blossoming, — 

Sudden,  thy  shadow  fell  on  me  ; 
I  shrieked  and  clasped  my  hands  in  ecstasy  ! 

I  vowed  that  I  would  dedicate  my  powers 

To  thee  and  thine — have  I  not  kept  the  vow  ? 
With  beating  heart,  and  streaming  eyes,  even  now 
I  call  the  phantoms  of  a  thousand  hours 
Each  from  his  voiceless  grave  ;    they  have  in  visioned 
bowers 

Of  studious  zeal  or  love's  delight 
Outwatched  with  me  the  envious  night — 
They  knew  that  never  joy  illumed  my  brow 

Unlinked  with  hope  that  thou  wouldst  free 
This  world  from  its  dark  slavery, 
That  thou — O  awful  Loveliness, 
Wouldst  give  whate'er  these  words  cannot  express." 

Both  of  these  passages  are  vague — they  were 
written  before  Shelley  learned  to  express  himself 

n 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

precisely.  But  he  describes  in  them  the  two  great 
and  lasting  passions  of  his  life  as  clearly  as  he  was 
then  able  to  see  them.  First  there  was  the  definite 
passion  for  reforming  the  world  ;  and  then,  far 
stronger,  there  was  the  passion  for  a  perfection 
that  should  give  a  simultaneous  delight  to  all  the 
parts  of  man's  nature,  moral,  intellectual,  and 
sensuous,  in  which  all  conflicts  should  be  reconciled 
and  "  music  and  moonlight  and  feeling  '  should 
be  one.  The  "  Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty ' 
was  written  when  Shelley  had  become  a  Platonist ; 
and  we  may  well  believe,  with  Professor  Dowden, 
that  it  was  Plato  who  purified  his  mind  of  those 
superstitions  which  wrought  upon  his  nerves 
rather  than  upon  his  imagination.  The  romance 
of  ideas  took  the  place  of  the  romance  of  fiends, 
and  ghosts,  and  churchyards.  All  through  his 
life  he  was  troubled  with  nerves,  and  his  passion 
for  perfection  when  overstrained  was  apt  to  turn 
into  terror.  But  he  seldom  indulged  his  terrors, 
or  made  literary  capital  of  them,  like  Poe  or  Bed- 
does.  The  beauty  to  which  he  dedicated  himself 
was  indeed  intellectual,  to  be  courted  by  all  the 
powers  of  the  mind  and  apprehended  by  the  exer- 
cise, not  the  sacrifice,  of  reason. 

Shelley  began  to  write  very  early  in  life ;  but 
his  early  works  have  no  merit  except  fluency, 
and  are  not  even  imitations  of  good  models.  In 
the  early  part  of  1810  he  induced  a  publisher  to 
accept  a  romance  called  "  Zastrozzi,"  and  even, 
it  is  said,  to  give  him  £40  for  it.     It  is  a  rigmarole 

12 


CHILDHOOD  AND  BOYHOOD 

of  passionate  words  and  phrases,  much  more  diffi- 
cult to  read  than  it  can  have  been  to  write.  It 
has  been  said  that  falsity  is  the  peculiar  quality 
of  romantic  literature  ;  and  certainly  the  chief 
aim  of  the  inferior  romantic  writer  was  to  get 
away  from  all  experience,  to  describe  a  world  that 
never  had  been  and  never  could  be,  made  up  of 
scenery  and  arbitrary  passions.  This  world, 
as  represented  in  the  works  of  Anne  Radcliffe 
and  Monk  Lewis,  delighted  Shelley  because  he  had 
never  known  anything  like  it.  Thus  when  he  set 
to  work  to  imitate  these  writers  he  fastened  upon 
what  was  most  unreal  in  them.  Anne  Radcliffe 
had  some  imagination.  Lewis  had,  at  least,  some 
mechanism,  and  could  tell  a  coherent  story  even 
in  the  Ballad  of  Alonzo  the  Brave  and  the  Fair 
Imogene.  Shelley,  at  this  time,  had  neither.  It 
was  enough  for  him  that  his  characters  should 
be  convulsed  with  passion  or  melting  with  sensi- 
bility. What  they  did  or  why  they  did  it  mattered 
nothing,  provided  there  was  no  routine  in  their 
lives  and  nothing  familiar  in  their  surroundings. 
He  had  already  contrived  to  fall  in  love  when  he 
wrote  "  Zastrozzi."  He  had  known  his  cousin 
Harriet  Grove  from  a  child.  She  was  beautiful 
and  about  his  own  age.  In  the  summer  of  1810 
she  was  staying  at  Field  Place  with  her  parents, 
and  Shelley's  passion  for  her  was  then  plain  to 
every  one.  Neither  family  was  opposed  to  it, 
nor  apparently  was  Harriet.  They  were  never 
engaged,  but  corresponded  together  ;  and  Harriet 

13 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

at  first  was  not  shocked  by  Shelley's  opinions 
about  religion,  which  he  now  took  great  pleasure 
in  expressing,  particularly  in  his  correspondence 
with  ladies.  Having  got  his  own  idea  of  what 
the  world  ought  to  be  almost  as  easily  as  a  baby 
gets  its  appetite,  he  found  that  the  Christian 
religion  did  not  fall  in  with  that  idea,  and  deter- 
mined to  destroy  it  with  a  light  heart.  Just  as 
evangelical  lovers  of  a  later  generation  wrote 
religious  love-letters,  so  he  wrote  sceptical  love- 
letters,  and,  as  he  had  a  tenderness  for  many  ladies, 
he  tried  to  convert  them  all ;  and  many  of  them 
enjoyed  the  process  without  taking  it  very  seriously. 


14 


CHAPTER     II 
OXFORD 

SHELLEY  became  an  undergraduate  of  Univer- 
sity College,  Oxford,  in  the  Michaelmas  Term 
of  1810.  He  went  there  because  it  was  his  father's 
college.  His  father  accompanied  him  and  intro- 
duced him  to  Slatter,  the  bookseller,  who  had  just 
set  up  in  business.  "  My  son  has  a  literary  turn," 
he  said,  "  do,  pray,  indulge  him  in  his  printing 
freaks."  Very  soon  after  the  beginning  of  term 
Shelley  made  the  acquaintance  of  Thomas  Jeffer- 
son Hogg,  an  undergraduate  of  the  same  college 
and  his  senior  by  a  couple  of  terms.  Hitherto  we 
have  had  to  depend  upon  scraps  of  information 
about  Shelley.  Now  he  becomes  as  clear  to  us 
as  a  character  in  a  good  novel.  Hogg's  Life  of 
Shelley  has  many  faults.  It  is  not  to  be  trusted 
on  matters  of  fact,  yet,  with  Trelawny's  Recollec- 
tions, it  is  the  most  valuable  book  that  has  ever 
been  written  on  Shelley.  Hogg's  sins,  which  are 
many,  may  be  forgiven  him,  because  he  loved 
Shelley  much,  and  because  he  had  the  wit  to  see 
through  all  Shelley's  absurdities  that  he  was  a 
divine  poet,  though  he  had  not  yet  written  any 
divine  poetry.     He  cannot  have  remembered  his 

15 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

conversations  with  Shelley  as  exactly  as  he  has 
reported  them ;  but  the  speeches  which  he  puts 
into  Shelley's  mouth  are  so  consistent  with  each 
other  and  with  other  accounts  of  Shelley's  conver- 
sation that  we  may  assume  them  to  have  the  truth 
of  a  sketch  from  memory  by  a  good  painter,  in 
which  only  irrelevant  details  are  forgotten,  and 
facts  are  emphasized,  not  perverted.  Thanks  to 
Hogg  and  Trelawny,  we  know  Shelley  better 
than  any  other  of  our  great  poets. 

Shelley  and  Hogg  first  met  at  dinner  in  Hall. 
Shelley  looked  very  young,  even  among  the  fresh- 
men. His  figure  was  slight  and  fragile,  though 
his  bones  were  large  and  strong.  He  was  tall, 
but  stooped.  His  clothes  were  well  cut,  but 
crumpled  and  unbrushed.  His  gestures  were 
sometimes  awkward  and  violent,  but  sometimes 
very  graceful.  His  complexion  was  delicate, 
but  sunburnt  and  freckled.  His  head  and  features 
were  very  small,  his  hair  long  and  bushy,  and  he 
would  rub  it  with  his  hands  and  pass  his  fingers 
through  it  in  the  agonies  of  anxious  thought,  so 
that  it  was  always  rough.  His  face  had  an  air 
of  profound  religious  veneration.  His  voice  was 
very  shrill,  harsh,  and  discordant,  a  fact  which 
other  writers  confirm,  though  some  say  that  it 
was  pleasant  when  not  strained  by  excitement. 
Shelley  and  Hogg  fell  at  once  into  a  dispute  about 
modern  German  and  Italian  literature,  Shelley 
being  for  the  Germans,  Hogg  for  the  Italians. 
They  went  to  Hogg's  room  to  continue  the  discus- 

16 


OXFORD 

sion,  and  when  they  got  there  Shelley  said  calmly 
that  he  knew  no  German  or  Italian.  Hogg  con- 
fessed that  he  was  in  the  same  case,  and  Shelley 
dismissed  the  subject  with  the  remark  that  it 
was  of  no  importance,  as  polite  letters  were  but 
vain  trifling.  It  was  better  to  investigate  things 
themselves  through  the  physical  sciences,  and 
especially  through  chemistry.  Then  he  went  off  to 
a  lecture,  but  returned  disappointed.  "  The  man 
talked  about  stones,"  he  said,  "  nothing  but  stones 
— and  so  dryly.  It  was  wonderfully  tiresome — 
and  stones  are  not  interesting  things  in  themselves." 
The  next  day  Hogg  went  to  see  Shelley  in  his 
rooms  at  two  o'clock,  where  he  found  him  under 
the  impression  that  it  was  about  ten  or  eleven. 
The  rooms  had  been  newly  papered,  painted,  and 
furnished  ;  but  already  they  were  in  indescribable 
confusion.  Books,  boots,  papers,  philosophical 
instruments,  clothes,  pistols,  crockery,  ammuni- 
tion, and  phials  innumerable,  with  money,  stock- 
ings, prints,  crucibles,  bags,  and  boxes,  were 
scattered  everywhere.  The  tables  and  carpet 
were  already  stained  with  large  spots  of  various 
hues.  An  electrical  machine,  an  air-pump,  a 
galvanic  trough,  a  solar  microscope  and  large 
glass  jars  and  receivers  were  mixed  up  with  the 
rest  of  the  litter.  A  handsome  razor  had  been 
used  as  a  knife.  Two  piles  of  books  supported 
a  pair  of  tongs,  and  these  upheld  a  glass  retort 
above  an  Argand-lamp.  Soon  the  liquor  in 
the  vessel  boiled  over  with  evil-smelling  fumes. 

17 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Shelley  seized  the  glass  and  dashed  it  in  pieces 
among  the  ashes  under  the  grate.  Then  he 
showed  Hogg  his  various  instruments,  and  spoke 
of  his  design  to  make  a  combination  of  many 
electric  kites  that  would  draw  down  from  the  sky 
an  immense  volume  of  electricity,  which,  being 
directed  to  some  point,  would  produce  the  most 
stupendous  results.  Soon  after  he  forgot  his 
contempt  of  polite  letters  and  spoke  of  poetry  with 
glowing  zeal.  Hogg  and  Shelley  at  once  became 
close  friends  and  spent  a  great  part  of  the  day 
together. 

The  teaching  at  Oxford  was  still,  almost  as  list- 
less as  Gibbon  found  it.  An  undergraduate  might 
learn  something  if  he  chose,  but  no  one  tried  to 
make  him  learn  anything.  Probably  Shelley 
would  have  refused  to  learn  anything  under  com- 
pulsion ;  but  he  had  already  a  passion  for  know- 
ledge which  he  communicated  to  Hogg,  and  they 
read  much  together  from  books  of  their  own 
choice.  Hogg  did  not  catch  Shelley's  enthusiasm 
for  science.  Shelley's  chemical  experiments 
seemed  to  him  to  promise  nothing  but  disaster. 
He  had  burnt  a  large  hole  in  the  carpet,  in  which 
he  caught  his  foot  whenever  he  crossed  the  room  ; 
and  there  was  some  danger  that  he  would  poison 
himself,  since  he  would  use  his  teacups  as  crucibles. 

About  six  in  the  evening  Shelley  usually  became 
drowsy.  He  would  then  lie  down  stretched  upon 
a  rug  before  the  fire,  like  a  cat,  with  his  little 
round  head  exposed  to  the  fiercest  heat.     Some- 

18 


OXFORD 

times  Hogg  interposed  some  kind  of  screen,  but 
Shelley  would  generally  roll  in  his  sleep  to  the 
place  where  the  heat  was  greatest.  About  ten 
he  would  suddenly  start  up,  and,  rubbing  his 
eyes  and  passing  his  fingers  swiftly  through  his 
hair,  would  begin  to  argue  or  recite  verses  with  an 
energy  and  rapidity  that  were  often  painful  to 
witness.  The  friends  often  went  walks  together, 
when  Shelley  would  take  a  pair  of  pistols  and  fire 
at  a  mark,  as  he  did  in  later  years  with  Byron 
in  Italy.  But  he  was  so  careless  with  the  pistols 
that  Hogg  would  often  secretly  abstract  the 
powder-flasks  or  the  bullets  before  they  started. 
Shelley  liked  to  fling  heavy  stones  into  a  pond, 
and  when  they  splashed  would  speculate  on  the 
science  of  acoustics,  and  the  valuable  discoveries 
that  might  be  made  about  it.  He  was  already  fond 
of  making  paper-boats,  but  had  not  yet  the  skill 
in  that  art  which  he  afterwards  acquired. 

He  was  happy  at  Oxford  and  wished  he  could 
stay  there  six  or  seven  years,  for  he  had  so  much  to 
learn.  He  delighted  in  the  privacy  he  could  secure 
by  "  sporting  his  oak."  "  The  oak  is  such  a 
blessing,"  he  exclaimed,  clasping  his  hands,  and 
repeated  the  remark  slowly  and  in  a  solemn  tone. 
"  The  oak  goes  far  towards  making  this  spot  a 
paradise."  He  found  the  Dons,  so  far  as  he 
encountered  them  at  all,  to  be  very  dull  men. 
"  A  little  man  sent  for  me  this  morning  and  told 
me  that  I  must  read.  '  You  must  read,'  he  said 
many  times  in  his  small  voice.     '  You  must  read 

19 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Prometheus  Vinctus,  ami  Demosthenes  de  Corona, 
and  Euclid.'  '  Must  I  read  Euclid  ?  '  I  asked 
sorrowfully.  '  Yes,  certainly  ;  and  you  must  begin 
Aristotle's  "  Ethics."  '  This  he  repeated  so  often 
that  I  was  quite  tired  ;  and  at  last  I  said  :  '  Must 
I  care  about  Aristotle  ?  What  if  I  do  not  mind 
about  Aristotle  ?  '  I  then  left  him,  for  he  seemed 
to  be  in  great  perplexity." 

Hogg  tells  us,  however,  that  he  took  to  the 
scholastic  logic  very  kindly,  and  seized  its  distinc- 
tions with  his  usual  quickness.  Indeed  he  had 
an  athletic  mind  from  the  first,  and  enjoyed  hard 
thinking  as  much  as  any  metaphysician,  provided 
it  was  about  abstractions.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  hard  thinking  in  his  most  rapturous  poetry, 
and  more  intellectual  power  in  his  images  than  in 
those  of  any  other  poet  of  his  time.  He  was 
impatient  of  facts  and  details  when  they  inter- 
fered with  the  process  of  his  thought,  but  not 
because  he  could  not  grasp  them.  Some  of  his 
letters  to  Godwin  prove  that  he  understood  busi- 
ness matters  far  better  than  that  philosopher. 
A  solicitor  might  have  written  them  if  he  had  had 
Shelley's  powers  of  expression  ;  and  they  should 
be  read  by  those  who  suppose  that  only  dull  men 
can  understand  dull  things.  He  read  Hume's 
Essays,  and  could  be  tempted  away  from  any 
pursuit  by  Locke's  "  Essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing." Hogg  thinks  that  he  took  up  the 
sceptical  philosophy  because  of  the  advantage  it 
game  him  in  argument.     No  doubt  he  enjoyed 

20 


OXFORD 

the  game  for  its  own  sake ;  but  his  destructive 
instinct  was  not  quite  aimless,  like  a  puppy's. 
Like  many  men  with  a  great  power  of  faith,  he 
had  to  make  his  own  beliefs  for  himself  ;  and  the 
first  step  in  this  process  was  to  rid  his  mind  of  the 
beliefs  of  others.  The  sceptical  philosophers  were 
for  a  time  heroes  and  deliverers  to  him  ;  just  as 
the  cold  Brutus  was  a  hero  to  the  Jacobins. 

Yet  even  at  this  time,  Hogg  tells  us,  a  listener 
to  some  of  Shelley's  glowing  discourses  would  have 
hailed  a  young  Platonist,   "breathing  forth  the 
ideal  Philosophy,  and  in  his  pursuit  of  the  intellec- 
tual world  entirely  overlooking  the  material,  or 
noticing  it  only  to  contemn  it."     His  first  know- 
ledge of  Plato  he  got  from  Dacier's  translation  of 
some  of  the  Dialogues,  and  from  an  English  version 
of    that    translation.     He    was   never   weary    of 
listening  to  passages  from  the  "  Phaedo,"  and  he 
was  vehemently  excited  by  the  doctrine  that  all 
our  knowledge  consists  of  reminiscences  of  what 
we  knew  in  a  former  life.    According  to  Hogg,  he 
once  questioned  a  baby  in  arms,  as  being  likely 
to  have  clear  memories  of  its  last  life,  and  insisted 
that  it  could  speak  of  these  things  if  it  chose. 
Hogg  could  not  interest  him  in  jurisprudence,  and 
his  mind  revolted  from  mathematics.     He  would 
not  lay  himself  out  to  admire  the  buildings  of  Ox- 
ford, although  he  often  betrayed  pleasure  in  them 
when  he  happened  to  notice  them.     His  taste  in 
art  was  sentimental  and  capricious  all  his  life : 
and,  like  a  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth  century, 

21 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

he  was  apt  to  despise  the  great  churches  of  the 
Middle  Ages  as  relics  of  superstition.  He  had  no 
historic  sense  about  anything,  least  of  all  about 
art ;  and  was  no  nearer  to  discovering  the  Middle 
Ages  than  Voltaire  himself.  To  him  they  were 
scarcely  even  romantic.  He  had  none  of  Blake's 
intuition  of  the  significance  of  their  art ;  not  a 
glimmering  of  the  fact  that  we  have  lost  some 
secrets  which  they  knew  by  instinct.  For  him 
between  the  end  of  the  ancient  world  and  the 
Renaissance  there  was  a  long  period  of  darkness 
in  which  men  only  made  mistakes. 

To  Hogg  it  seemed  that  in  no  one  was  the  moral 
sense  ever  more  completely  developed  than  in 
Shelley ;  in  no  being  was  the  perception  of  right 
and  wrong  more  acute.  It  has  been  remarked, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  he  had  no  sense  of  guilt 
when  he  did  wrong.  The  fact  is  that  his  mind 
was  often  in  conflict  with  external  things,  never 
with  itself.  He  never  passed  out  of  that  first  stage 
which  Wordsworth  describes  in  his  "  Ode  to 
Duty '  - 

"  When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 
And  joy  its  own  security." 

For  him  joy  was  always  the  test,  as  it  would  be 
no  doubt  in  heaven  ;  and  he  saw  no  reason  why 
we  should  not  turn  earth  into  heaven. 

There  is  no  need  to  insist  upon  the  fact  that  he 
had  a  good  heart.  A  hundred  stories  prove  it. 
Hogg  speaks  of  his  exquisite  sensibility  and  his 
sympathy    with    all    suffering.     Nor    was    he    a 

22 


OXFORD 

mere  sentimentalist  who  satisfied  his  conscience 
with  fine  feelings.  He  would  put  himself  to  any 
trouble  to  help  the  distressed,  and  he  took  a  noble 
joy  in  such  trouble,  a  joy  such  as  few  of  us  can 
understand.  Yet  it  might  be  said  of  him,  as  it 
was  said  of  some  one  else,  that  he  was  born  too 
good  ever  to  become  a  saint.  He  had  a  facility 
in  virtue  like  the  facility  of  Raphael  in  art ;  and 
there  were  moral  dangers  in  that  facility. 

For  the  Christmas  vacation  Shelley  went  to 
Field  Place  and  Hogg  to  Buckinghamshire.  Shel- 
ley wrote  long  letters  to  Hogg,  and  these  reveal 
his  state  of  mind  more  clearly  even  than  Hogg's 
narrative.  They  are  like  the  letters  of  a  heroine 
of  romance,  and  show  Shelley  in  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  a  number  of  romantic  troubles.  Not  only 
was  he  in  love,  but  a  publisher,  by  name  Stock- 
dale,  had  warned  his  father  when  in  London  of 
his  dangerous  opinions  and  also  of  the  evil  influ- 
ence of  Hogg.  Thereupon  Timothy  Shelley  wrote 
a  letter  to  his  son  which  caused  him  the  most 
exquisite  apprehension.  He  was  in  the  midst 
of  treasons.  "  There  is  now  need  of  all  my  art," 
he  writes  to  Hogg  ;  "I  must  resort  to  deception. 
I  am  surrounded,  environed  by  dangers,  to  which 
compared  the  devils  who  besieged  St.  Antony 
were  all  inefficient."  He  burns  with  impatience 
for  the  moment  of  the  dissolution  of  intolerance, 
and  swears  on  the  altar  of  perjured  love  to  revenge 
himself  on  the  hated  cause  of  this  effect.    There 

23 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

lowers  a  terrific  tempest,  but  he  stands,  as  it 
were,  on  a  Pharos,  and  smiles  exultingly  at  the 
vain  beating  of  the  billows  below.  Here  there  is 
an  allusion  to  another  trouble.  The  parents  of 
Harriet  Grove  had  also  become  uneasy  about  his 
religious  opinions ;  and  Harriet  herself,  whether 
or  no  she  sighed  as  a  lover,  consented  as  a  daughter 
to  their  desire  that  she  should  go  no  further  with 
him. 

Yet  he  was  not  out  of  conceit  with  love,  but 
wished  Hogg  to  contract  a  passion  for  his  sister 
Elizabeth,  whom  Hogg  had  never  seen.  He  could 
not  invite  Hogg  to  Field  Place,  so  he  continued 
to  write  to  him  long,  delirious,  young-lady-like 
letters ;  and  Hogg  wrote  to  Elizabeth,  whose 
intellect  Shelley  did  not  wish  to  awaken  too 
powerfully,  and  to  whom  therefore  he  did  not  com- 
municate all  his  own  speculations.  "  The  uncon- 
genial jollities  of  Christmas  "  increased  his  sense 
of  his  momentous  woe.  ' '  When  you  are  compelled 
to  contribute  to  the  merriment  of  others,  when 
you  are  compelled  to  live  under  the  severest  of 
restraints,  concealment  of  feelings  pregnant  enough 
in  themselves,  how  terrible  is  your  lot !  I  am 
learning  abstraction,  but  I  fear  that  my  proficiency 
will  be  but  trifling."  It  was  not  so  much  love 
itself  as  the  circumstances  of  love  that  enthralled 
him  ;  and  it  was,  of  course,  only  right  and  proper 
that  they  should  be  adverse.  Nothing  could  be 
more  in  keeping  with  his  ideas  of  himself  and  the 
world  than  that  he  should  be  rejected  for  his 

24 


OXFORD 

opinions  and  asked  to  desert  his  dearest  friend. 
Hogg  preached  some  kind  of  resignation  to  him, 
but  he  replied  :  "  Considering  matters  in  a  philo- 
sophical light  it  evidently  appears  (if  it  is  not 
treason  to  speak  thus  coolly  on  a  subject  so  deliri- 
ously ecstatic)  that  we  were  not  destined  for  misery. 
What  then  shall  happiness  arise  from  ?  Can  we 
hesitate  ?  Love,  dear  Love  ;  and  though  every 
mental  faculty  is  bewildered  by  this  agony,  which 
is  in  this  life  its  too  constant  attendant,  still 
is  not  that  very  agony  to  be  preferred  to  the  most 
thrilling  sensualities  of  epicurism  ?  " 

In  his  next  letter,  written  the  next  day,  he  is  in 
a  philosophic  mood.  "  The  word  '  God  '  has  been 
and  will  continue  to  be  the  source  of  numberless 
errors  until  it  is  erased  from  the  nomenclature 
of  philosophy."  But  still,  he  thinks,  the  leaf  of  a 
tree  and  the  meanest  insects  on  which  we  trample 
are  conclusive  arguments  that  some  vast  intellect 
animates  infinity.  Like  Hamlet  he  asks  questions 
about  suicide.  "  I  slept  with  a  loaded  pistol  and 
some  poison  last  night,  but  did  not  die."  "  Can 
the  dead  feel ;  dawns  any  day-beam  on  the  night 
of  dissolution  ?  "  In  another  letter  he  talks 
again  of  Harriet  Grove.  ''When  in  her  natural 
character  her  spirits  are  good,  her  conversation 
animated,  and  she  is  almost  in  consequence 
ignorant  of  the  refinements  in  love  which  can 
only  be  attained  by  solitary  reflexion." 

Shelley  always  kept  this  idea  of  love  as  a  state 
of  mind  to  be  cultivated  for  its  own  sake  and 

25 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

almost  independent  of  its  object.  Love,  as  he 
conceived  it,  did  not  mean  action,  but  ecstasy. 
It  was  like  the  religion  of  eremites,  but  unfortun- 
ately not  so  free  of  material  results  as  that  religion. 
He  could  never  understand  why  society  has  found 
it  necessary  to  put  restraints  upon  love.  He 
thought  of  it  as  a  condition  of  being  at  which 
every  one  should  aim,  and  which  should  be 
renewed,  whenever  necessary,  by  fresh  incite- 
ments. Meanwhile  Harriet  Grove  was  lost  to 
him  for  ever.  He  had  seen  her,  or  tried  to  see 
her,  but  without  result.  He  breaks  into  verse 
as  much  about  stern  warriors,  and  dread  tyrants, 
and  millions  of  blood-reeking  victims,  as  about 
Harriet.  Then  he  turns  again  to  discussing  ultim- 
ate reality.  He  defines  soul  as  "  the  most  supreme 
superior,  and  distinguished  abstract  appendage 
to  the  nature  of  anything."  But  he  seems  to 
feel  that  something  is  wanting  in  the  definition, 
for  he  says  that  his  head  is  rather  dizzy,  "  on 
account  of  not  taking  rest  and  a  slight  attack  of 
typhus."  He  had  spent  most  of  the  night  pacing 
a  churchyard. 

Five  days  later  he  tells  Hogg  that  Harriet  Grove 
is  married — "  married  to  a  clod  of  earth."  It  was 
a  pity  that  Locksley  Hall  was  not  yet  written  for 
him  to  quote.  *  ■  She  will  become  as  insensible 
herself,"  he  cries.  "  All  those  fine  capabilities 
will  moulder !  "  But  he  does  not  tell  this  news 
until  he  has  written  at  some  length  about  Hogg's 
relations  with  Elizabeth  ;   and  having  told  it  in  a 

26 


OXFORD 

few  words,  he  passes  to  other  matters.  "My 
mother,"  he  says,  "  fancies  I  want  to  make  a 
deistical  coterie  of  all  my  little  sisters  :  how  laugh- 
able !  "  Then  follows  a  poem  by  Elizabeth,  just 
as  good  as  Shelley's  own  poems  of  the  same  date. 
Hogg  appears  to  have  thought  it  strange  that 
Shelley's  poetry  had  so  little  to  do  with  Harriet. 
So  he  explains  :  "  If  it  neither  has  allusion  to  the 
sentiments  which  rationally  might  be  supposed  to 
possess  me,  or  to  those  which  my  situation  might 
awaken,  it  is  another  proof  of  that  egotising  vari- 
ability, whilst  I  shudder  to  reflect  how  much  I  am 
in  its  power.  To  you  I  dare  represent  myself 
as  I  am  !    Wretched  to  the  last  degree." 

He  returned  to  Oxford  enraged  with  intolerance. 
This  was  the  nearest  he  got  to  practical  politics. 
The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  "The  Jockey,"  who  was  a 
friend  of  the  family  and  a  chief  of  the  Whigs,  had 
told  him  that  politics  were  the  proper  career  for  a 
young  man  of  ability,  and  he  went  several  times 
with  his  father  to  the  House  of  Commons  ;  but  it 
did  not  stir  his  imagination.  "  What  creatures  did 
I  see  there  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What  faces — what 
an  expression  of  countenance  ! — what  wretched 
beings."  Instead  of  preparing  himself  to  represent 
a  pocket  borough,  he  began  to  take  an  interest  in 
oppressed  individuals.  There  was  a  man  named 
Browne  who,  rightly  or  wrongly,  had  been  ordered 
to  resign  from  the  navy.  He  wrote  a  book  about 
Sweden,  and  Shelley,  believing  he  had  been 
unjustly  treated,  agreed  to  purchase  the  copy- 

27 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

right  of  it.     Just  before  he  was  expelled  from 
Oxford,  he  put  his  name  to  a  bond  for  £800. 
So  did  the  publisher,  and  since  Shelley  had  no 
access  to  his  father's  fortune  the  publisher  had  to 
pay.     Leigh  Hunt  had  lately  been  acquitted  on  a 
charge   of   seditious   libel.    The    trial   had   been 
costly,  and  Shelley  wrote  to  him  to  propose  "a 
scheme  of  mutual  safety  and  mutual  indemnification 
for  men  of  public  spirit  and  principle."     It  is  not 
known  whether  Hunt   answered   this  letter,   he 
certainly  did  not  yet  make  Shelley's  acquaintance. 
Meanwhile  the  Dons  probably  got  to  know  of 
Shelley's  opinions,  since  he  made  no  concealment 
of  them.     He  must  have  been  conspicuous  any- 
where, with  his  long  hair,  his  strange  habits,  his 
beautiful   countenance,   and  his  high   screaming 
voice.    No  doubt  the  Dons  were  curious  about 
him  from  the  first ;  and  their  curiosity  would  soon 
turn  to  anger  and  apprehension.     They  would 
be  glad  of  a  chance  to  make  an  example  of  him ; 
and  he  soon  gave  them  one.    There  has  been  some 
dispute  about  the  origin  of  the  famous  pamphlet 
on  "The  Necessity  of  Atheism."     Hogg  tells  us 
that  Shelley  had  a  habit  of  writing  to  people  he 
had  never  seen,  often  to  divines,  enclosing  a  short 
abstract  of  the  doctrines  of  Hume,  and  saying  that  it 
was  a  little  tract  which  he  had  accidentally  met  with 
and  which  appeared  to  him  quite  unanswerable. 
He  would  give  an  assumed  name,  and  an  address 
in  London.     If  he  elicited  an  answer  he  would  fall 
upon  the  unwary  disputant  and  break  his  bones. 

28 


OXFORD 

Hogg's  account  of  these  transactions  is  not  quite 
clear.  But  it  seems  that  Shelley  began  with 
written  arguments,  and  gradually  evolved  a  tract, 
which  he  printed  and  which  ended  with  a  Q.E.D. 
One  of  his  correspondents  seems  to  have  supposed 
he  was  a  doubting  curate,  and  addressed  him  as 

the  Reverend  .     Early  in  his  second  term 

Shelley  resolved  to  publish  his  tract  under  the  title 

"The    Necessity    of    Atheism."     It    was    issued 

anonymously,  and  in  the  preface  Shelley  called 

himself,  "  Thro'  deficiency  of  proof  an  Atheist." 

He  is  said  to  have  strewn  the  counter  of  Messrs. 

Slatter  &  Munday's  shop  with  copies,  and  to  have 

told  the  shopman  to  sell  them  as  fast  as  he  could  at 

sixpence  each.    The  sale  was  soon  checked  by  a 

Don  of  New  College,  who,  after  looking  at  the  tract, 

asked  to  see  the  principals,  and  induced  them  to 

burn  the  remaining  copies.     They  sent  for  Shelley 

and  remonstrated  with  him.     He  told  them  that 

he  had  sent  a  copy  to  all  the  bishops,  to  the  Vice- 

Chancellor,  and  to  all  the  heads  of  Colleges,  with  a 

letter  in  his  own  hand,  signed  Jeremiah  Stukeley. 

It  was  some  days  before  the  pamphlet  was  brought 

home  to  him  ;   but  on  the  morning  of  Lady  Day 

he  rushed  into  his  rooms,  where  Hogg  was  waiting 

for  him,  and  cried,  "I  am  expelled."     Then  he 

told  Hogg  that  he  had  been  sent  for  to  the  Common 

Room,  where  he  found  the  master  and  some  of  the 

fellows  of  the  college.    The  master  produced  a 

copy  of  the  pamphlet,  and  asked  if  he  had  written 

it,  speaking  in  "  a  rude,  abrupt,  and  insolent  tone." 

29 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Shelley  asked  why  he  put  the  question.  No  answer 
was  given ;  but  the  master  loudly  and  angrily 
repeated,  "Are  you  the  author  of  this  book  ?  " 
"  If  I  can  judge  of  your  manner,"  Shelley  said, 
"  you  are  resolved  to  punish  me,  if  I  should  ac- 
knowledge that  it  is  my  work.  If  you  can  prove 
that  it  is,  produce  your  evidence ;  it  is  neither 
just  nor  lawful  to  interrogate  me  in  such  a  case 
and  for  such  a  purpose.  Such  proceedings  would 
become  a  court  of  inquisitors,  but  not  free  men  in 
a  free  country."  "  Do  you  choose  to  deny  that 
this  is  your  composition  ?  "  the  master  reiterated 
in  the  same  rude  and  angry  voice.  Shelley  finally 
refused  to  answer  any  questions,  whereupon  the 
master  said  furiously,  "  Then  you  are  expelled ; 
and  I  desire  you  will  quit  this  college  early  to-mor- 
row morning  at  the  latest."  One  of  the  fellows 
took  up  two  papers  and  handed  one  of  them  to 
Shelley.  It  was  a  sentence  of  expulsion  drawn  up 
in  due  form  under  the  seal  of  the  college.  Having 
told  his  story,  Shelley  sat  on  the  sofa  repeating 
with  convulsive  vehemence  the  words,  "  Expelled, 
expelled."  Thereupon  Hogg  wrote  a  short  note 
to  the  master  and  fellows  briefly  expressing  his 
sorrow  at  their  treatment  of  Shelley,  and  his  hope 
that  they  would  reconsider  their  sentence.  In 
an  instant  the  porter  summoned  him  before  the 
master,  who  asked  him  whether  he  too  had  written 
the  pamphlet.  Hogg  "  submissively  "  pointed  out 
to  him  the  unfairness  of  the  question,  and  refused 
to  answer  it.    Thereupon  the  master  told    him 

30 


OXFORD 

to  return  and  consider  whether  he  would  persist 
in  his  refusal.  He  had  scarcely  left  the  room  when 
he  was  recalled.  The  master  again  asked  him 
whether  he  admitted  or  denied  having  written 
the  pamphlet.  He  again  refused  to  answer,  and 
the  master  cried,  "Then  you  are  expelled."  A 
document  like  that  given  to  Shelley  was  put  in  his 
hand,  and  he  was  commanded  to  quit  the  college 
the  next  day  at  an  early  hour. 

After  they  had  passed  their  sentence  the  Dons 
seem  to  have  felt  some  compunction  about  it. 
But  Hogg  and  Shelley  gave  no  signs  of  the  sub- 
mission which,  perhaps,  was  expected  and  hoped 
of  them.  As  they  were  leaving  the  next  morning, 
Hogg  was  told  that  if  Shelley  would  ask  permission 
of  the  master  to  stay  for  a  short  period,  it  would 
probably  be  granted.  Both  refused  to  ask  any 
favour,  and  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  they 
started  in  the  coach  for  London. 

It  is  not  very  wonderful  that  in  the  general  state 
of  opinion  at  that  time  Shelley  should  have  been 
expelled  for  his  pamphlet.  Undergraduates  were 
not  sent  to  the  University  to  write  pamphlets 
on  the  necessity  of  atheism,  and  at  that  date  they 
were  all  supposed  to  be  members  of  the  Church 
of  England.  It  must  be  remembered,  too,  that 
atheism  was  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  ortho- 
dox with  the  horrors  of  the  French  Revolution, 
and  that  there  was  a  real  fear  that  these  horrors 
might  be  repeated  in  England  if  the  contagion  of 
the   revolutionary   doctrines   spread.     No   doubt 

3i 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  Dons  regarded  the  expulsion  of  Shelley  as  a 
sanitary  measure,  and  included  Hogg  in  it  as  an 
infected  object.  Their  manner  of  proceeding,  if 
it  has  not  been  misrepresented,  was  unnecessarily 
fierce.  They  might  have  attempted  to  reason 
with  Shelley.  They  might  have  remembered  that 
they  had  made  no  efforts  to  prevent  him  from 
falling  into  error.  We  may  assume  that  they 
had  not  done  their  duty  by  him,  and  they  ought 
to  have  asked  themselves  whether  his  offence  was 
not  the  result  of  their  neglect.  The  expulsion  of 
Hogg  was  quite  arbitrary.  If  they  knew  that 
Shelley  had  written  the  pamphlet,  they  had  no 
evidence  that  Hogg  had  any  hand  in  it,  and  it 
was  clearly  unjust  to  punish  him  for  refusing  to 
answer  a  question  which  they  had  no  reason  to 
put.  No  doubt  they  were  severe  because  they 
were  frightened.  They  wished  to  make  an  example, 
and,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  made  a  mistake. 


32 


CHAPTER     III 
SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

IT  is  significant  that  Shelley  should  not  have 
gone  home  in  his  trouble.  Other  boys  in 
the  same  case  might  have  avoided  their  parents 
from  cowardice.  But  Shelley  was  afraid  of  no 
one,  least  of  all  his  parents.  He  went  to  London 
partly,  no  doubt,  from  a  desire  for  adventure, 
partly  because  he  would  only  have  been  wearied 
by  his  father's  reproaches.  He  had  already  learnt 
to  live  a  life  of  his  own,  in  which  his  parents  had 
no  part.  He  was  already  estranged  from  them, 
not  by  a  quarrel  that  might  have  been  made  up, 
but  by  a  more  fatal  and  permanent  incompatibility 
for  which  no  one  deserved  much  blame. 

Their  first  night  Shelley  and  Hogg  put  up  at  a 
coffee-house.  The  next  day  they  looked  for  lodg- 
ings, and  Shelley  was  difficult  to  please.  One 
pleasant  set  he  would  not  take  because  a  man 
in  the  street  cried  "  Mackerel "  and  "  Mussels." 
He  clapped  his  hands  to  his  ears  and  rushed 
wildly  out  of  doors.  At  another  he  fell  in  dudgeon 
with  the  maid's  nose.  At  another  he  took  umbrage 
at  the  voice  of  the  mistress.  At  last  they  came 
to  Poland  Street.      The  name  reminded  Shelley 

3  33 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  and  Freedom.  So  he 
determined  to  lodge  there.  They  found  some 
rooms  to  let,  one  of  them  with  a  trellised  paper,  and 
vines  with  huge  clusters  of  grapes,  green  and  pur- 
ple, on  the  trellis.  Shelley  was  delighted.  He  went 
up  to  the  wall  and  touched  it.  "  We  must  stay 
here.  Stay  for  ever  !  "  he  cried.  Whenever  a 
place  took  his  fancy,  he  vowed  to  stay  there  for 
ever.  A  bedroom  had  the  same  paper,  and  Shelley 
took  this.  He  asked  whether  grapes  really  grew 
in  that  manner  anywhere,  and  said  they  would 
soon  go  and  see  them,  in  which  case,  Hogg 
pointed  out,  they  could  not  stay  in  these  lodgings 
for  ever.  When  they  were  settled  in  the  lodgings 
they  took  long  walks  together,  and  went  to  Wands- 
worth, where  some  of  Shelley's  sisters  were  at 
school.  Hogg  tells  us  how,  when  they  came  to 
the  gate  of  the  school,  they  saw  a  little  girl,  eight 
or  ten  years  old,  scampering  about.  Shelley 
screamed  with  delight,  "  Oh  !  there  is  little  Hellen." 
Meanwhile  Shelley's  father  had  to  be  reckoned 
with.  He  was  determined  that  the  friends  should 
be  parted.  He  would  not  have  Hogg  at  Field 
Place,  and  wrote  to  him  to  that  effect  as  soon  as  he 
heard  of  the  expulsion.  "  The  invitation,  my  son 
wrote  me  word,  that  you  would  accept  to  spend 
the  Easter  vacation  at  Field  Place — I  am  sorry  to 
say  the  late  occurrence  at  University  College  must 
of  necessity  preclude  me  that  pleasure,  as  I  shall 
have  to  bear  up  against  the  affliction  that  such  a 
business   has   occasioned."     He    seems    to    have 

34 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

been  always  incoherent  both  in  his  speech  and  his 
letters.  He  also  wrote  to  Hogg's  father  about  the 
two  boys,  saying,  "  I  have  endeavoured  to  part 
them  by  directing  my  son  to  return  home,  and  also 
giving  the  same  advice  to  your  son  ;  and  backed 
by  that  opinion  by  men  of  rank  and  influence, 
therefore  I  would  suggest  to  you  to  come  to  Lon- 
don and  try  our  joint  endeavours  for  that  purpose." 
To  this  letter  there  is  the  following  postscript : — 

"  Sir  James  Graham  tells  me  there  are  several 
of  the  name,  therefore  into  whose ver's  hands 
this  comes,  will  have  the  goodness  to  find  out  the 
right  person." 

At  the  same  time  he  wrote  to  Shelley,  beginning 
'  My  dear  boy,"  and  saying,  "  The  disgrace  which 
hangs  over  you  is  most  serious,  and  though  I  have 
felt  as  a  father,  and  sympathized  in  the  misfortune 
which  your  criminal  opinions  and  improper  acts 
have  begot,  yet,  you  must  know,  that  I  have  a 
duty  to  perform  to  my  own  character,  as  well  as 
to  your  young  brother  and  sisters.  Above  all,  my 
feelings  as  a  Christian  require  from  me  a  decided 
and  firm  conduct  towards  you." 

"  If  you  shall  require  aid  or  assistance  from  me," 
he  continues,  "  or  any  protection,  you  must  pledge 
yourself  to  me — 

"First.  To  go  immediately  to  Field  Place, 
and  to  abstain  from  all  communication  with  Mr. 
Hogg  for  some  considerable  time. 

"  Second.  That  you  shall  place  yourself  under 
the  care  and  society  of  such  gentleman  as  I  shall 

35 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

appoint,  and  attend  to  his  instructions  and  direc- 
tions he  shall  give." 

And  he  concludes — 

"  These  terms  are  so  necessary  to  your  well- 
being,  and  to  the  value  which  I  cannot  but  entertain, 
that  you  may  abandon  your  errors  and  present 
unjustifiable  and  wicked  opinions,  that  I  am 
resolved  to  withdraw  myself  from  you,  and  leave 
you  to  the  punishment  and  misery  that  belongs 
to  the  wicked  pursuit  of  an  opinion  so  diabolical 
and  wicked  as  that  which  you  have  dared  to  declare 
if  you  shall  not  accept  my  proposals." 

Shelley  replied  thus  : — 

"  My  dear  Father, — As  you  do  me  the  honour 
of  requesting  to  hear  the  determination  of  my 
mind  as  the  basis  of  your  future  actions,  I  feel  it 
my  duty,  although  it  gives  me  pain  to  wound 
*  the  sense  of  duty  to  your  own  character,  to  that 
of  your  family,  and  your  feelings  as  a  Christian,' 
decidedly  to  refuse  my  assent  to  both  the  proposals 
in  your  letter,  and  to  affirm  that  similar  refusals 
will  always  be  the  fate  of  similar  requests.  With 
many  thanks  for  your  great  kindness — I  remain 
your  affectionate,  dutiful  son, 

"  Percy  B.  Shelley  " 

If  Timothy  Shelley  had  been  a  wise  man  he 
would  have  gone  to  see  his  son  and  Hogg  and  tried 
to  understand  something  of  his  son's  state  of  mind, 
of  Hogg's  character,  and  of  the  relations  between 

36 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

them,  before  making  any  proposals  or  demands. 

But  he  was  not  a  wise  man,  and,  even  when  he 
meant  well,  usually  acted  as  mischievously  as  if 
he  meant  ill.  He  wrote  again  to  Hogg's  father 
urging  him  to  get  his  "  young  man  home."  "  They 
want  to  get  into  professions  together.  If  possible 
they  must  be  parted,  for  such  monstrous  opinions 
that  occupy  their  thoughts  are  by  no  means  in 
their  favour." 

"  Paley's  '  Natural  Theology  '  I  shall  recom- 
mend my  young  man  to  read ;  it  is  extremely 
applicable.  I  shall  read  it  with  him.  A  father 
so  employed  must  impress  his  mind  more  sensibly 
than  a  stranger." 

"  I  understand  you  have  more  children.  God 
grant  they  may  turn  out  well,  and  this  young  man 
see  his  error." 

Feeling  that  he  must  do  something,  yet  not 
knowing  what  to  do,  Timothy  went  to  see  his 
solicitor.  "  I  consider  it  right,"  he  said,  "  to  put 
my  business  into  Mr.  W.'s  hands,  to  guard  my 
honour  and  character  in  case  of  any  prosecutions 
in  the  courts,  and  to  direct  my  son  to  do  what  was 
right  in  the  first  instance,  so  he  will  now."  He 
was  surprised  to  find  that  Hogg's  father  was  not 
much  concerned  about  the  affair.  "  Mr.  Hogg,"  he 
exclaimed,  "  must  be  deceived.  Indeed,  what  right 
have  these  opinionated  youngsters  to  do  any  such 
thing  ?     Undutiful  and  disrespectful  to  a  degree  !  " 

Shelley  had  written  to  Hogg's  father  protesting 
that  Hogg  was  not  the  original  corrupter  of  his 

37 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

principles  as  Timothy  Shelley  supposed.  Hogg 
knew  nothing  of  this  at  the  time,  and  was  much 
touched  when  he  discovered  it  years  afterwards. 
Shelley,  he  says,  had  many  underhand  ways,  but 
his  secrets  were  hidden  "through  modesty, 
delicacy,  generosity,  refinement  of  soul,  through 
a  dislike  to  be  praised  and  thanked  for  noble, 
disinterested,    high-minded   deeds." 

Shelley  and  his  father  were  not  yet  utterly 
estranged.  One  Sunday  Shelley  took  Hogg  to 
dine  with  his  father  at  an  hotel.  Hogg  was  kindly 
received ;  but  presently  Mr.  Shelley  began  to 
talk  in  an  odd,  inconsequent  manner  ;  scolding, 
crying,  swearing  and  weeping.  After  dinner, 
when  Shelley  had  gone  out  of  the  room  on  some 
errand,  his  father  addressed  Hogg  thus : — 

"  You  are  a  very  different  person,  sir,  from 
what  I  expected  to  find  ;  you  are  a  nice,  moderate, 
reasonable,  pleasant  gentleman.  Tell  me  what 
you  think  I  ought  to  do  with  my  poor  boy."  Hogg 
suggested  marriage.  But  Timothy  was  sure  that 
if  he  told  Bysshe  to  marry  a  girl,  he  would  refuse 
directly.  Hogg  agreed,  but  thought  he  might  be 
brought  into  contact  with  some  young  lady  who 
would  make  him  a  suitable  wife.  They  drank 
port,  and  Timothy  Shelley  began  to  talk  loudly. 
He  said  he  was  highly  respected  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  by  the  Speaker  in  particular,  who  told 
him  that  they  could  not  get  on  without  him.  He 
was  also  greatly  beloved  in  Sussex,  and  an  excellent 
magistrate.     He  asserted  that  there  was  certainly 

38 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

a  God.  "  You  have  no  doubt  on  the  subject,  sir, 
have  you  ?  "  he  asked.  Hogg  had  none  ;  but  Mr. 
Shelley  persisted,  "  If  you  have,  I  can  prove  it  to 
you  in  a  moment.' '  He  drew  out  a  sheet  of  paper 
and  began  to  read.  Shelley,  who  had  returned, 
listened  attentively,  and  after  a  while  said,  "  I 
have  heard  this  argument  before."  Hogg  recog- 
nized the  argument  as  Paley's,  and  Timothy 
Shelley  acknowledged  the  fact.  "  I  copied  them 
out  of  Palley's  book  this  morning  myself,"  he  said, 
"  but  Palley  had  them  originally  from  me  ;  almost 
everything  in  Palley's  book  he  had  from  me." 
When  they  parted  Timothy  Shelley  shook  hands 
with  Hogg,  and  said,  "  Tell  me  the  truth,  I  am 
not  such  a  bad  fellow  after  all,  am  I." 

In  April  Hogg  left  London.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  be  a  barrister,  and  was  to  enter  a 
conveyancer's  chambers  at  York,  where  Shelley 
hoped  to  join  him  in  June.  Meanwhile  Shelley 
stayed  alone  in  his  lodgings,  "a  bright-eyed,  rest- 
less fox  amid  sour  grapes."  He  was  soon  started 
upon  a  new  and  dangerous  romance.  On  April 
n,  1811,  he  writes  to  Hogg,  "  Miss  Westbrook 
has  this  moment  called  on  me  with  her  sister." 
The  younger  Miss  Westbrook,  Harriet,  was  a 
fellow-pupil  with  Shelley's  sisters  at  the  school  at 
Wandsworth.  Her  father,  John  Westbrook,  had 
retired  from  keeping  a  coffee-house  or  tavern. 
At  this  time  she  was  not  yet  sixteen.  Hogg  tells 
us  that  she  was  both  beautiful  and  delightful ; 
rosy,    brown-haired,    light-footed,    sweet-voiced, 

39 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  sweet-tempered.     Shelley  got  to  know  her 
well  in  this  way.     His  father  refused  to  give  him 
any  money  until  he  made  his  submission.    His 
sisters  wished  to  help  him,  and  sent  him  little 
gifts  of  money  by  Harriet,  who  often  went  home, 
and  who  therefore  had  more  freedom.    The  eldest 
Miss  Westbrook,  Eliza,  who  was  thirty  years  old, 
seems  to  have  planned  a  match  from  the  first  with 
a   natural   ambition.     Harriet   gave   an   account 
of   her  first  impressions  of   Shelley  in   a  letter 
written  after  her  marriage.    When  a  child,  she 
says,  she  admired  the  red-coats,  though  at  the 
same  time  she  "  used  to  declare  never  to  marry 
one.    This  was  not  so  much  on  account  of  their 
vices  as  from  the  idea  of  their  being  killed.     I 
thought,  if  I  married    anyone,  it    should    be    a 
clergyman.     Strange  idea  this,  was  it  not  ?    but 
being  brought  up  in  the  Christian  religion,  'twas 
this  first  gave  rise  to  it.     You  may  conceive  with 
what  horror  I  first  heard  that  Percy  was  an  Atheist ; 
at  least  it  was  so  given  out  at  Clapham.  ...    I 
was  truly  petrified.     I  wondered  how  he  could 
live   a   moment   professing  such  principles,   and 
solemnly  declared  he  should  never  change  mine. 
I  little  thought  of  the  rectitude  of  those  principles, 
and  when  I  wrote  to  him,  I  used  to  try  to  shake 
them,  making  sure  that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  and 
that  myself  was  right." 

Thus  they  had  a  delightful  subject  of  conversa- 
tion. Harriet  regarded  Shelley,  no  doubt,  as  a 
fallen  angel,  and  Shelley  enjoyed  nothing  so  much 

40 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST   MARRIAGE 

as  undermining  the  faith  of  ladies.  But  in  this 
case  he  had  some  misgivings.  "  It  is  perhaps 
scarcely  doing  her  a  kindness — it  is  perhaps  in- 
ducing positive  unhappiness — to  point  out  to  her 
a  road  which  leads  to  perfection,  the  attain- 
ment of  which,  perhaps,  does  not  repay  the 
difficulties  of  progress."  He  does  not  speak  of 
her  like  a  lover  :  "  My  little  friend  Harriet  W. 
is  gone  to  her  prison-house  (his  name  for  the 
school).  ...  I  went  with  her  sister  to  Miss  H.'s, 
and  walked  about  Clapham  Common  with  them 
for  two  hours.  The  youngest  is  a  most  amiable 
girl ;  the  eldest  is  really  conceited,  but  very 
condescending.  I  took  the  sacrament  with  her 
on  Sunday."  That  he  should  have  done  this  no 
doubt  gave  Eliza  hopes,  and  she  began  to  force 
the  pace.  Soon  after  Shelley  writes  that  his  poor 
little  friend  had  been  ill.  "  Her  sister  sent  for  me 
the  other  night.  I  found  her  on  a  couch,  pale. 
Her  father  is  civil  to  me,  very  strangely.  The 
sister  is  too  civil  by  half.  She  began  talking  about 
I' A  monr.  I  philosophised,  and  the  youngest  said  she 
had  such  a  headache  that  she  could  not  bear  conver- 
sation. Her  sister  then  went  away,  and  I  stayed 
till  half-past  twelve."  Then  follows  an  outburst 
against  someone  or  something  not  named,  but 
probably  intolerance.  "Yes!  the  fiend,  the  wretch, 
shall  fall.  Harriet  will  do  for  one  of  the  crushers, 
and  the  eldest  (Emily),  with  some  taming,  will  do 
too."  Her  name  was  Eliza,  and  Shelley  never 
succeeded  in  taming  her. 

4i 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

There  follows  a  poem  about  a  lion  and  a  lama. 
Shelley  is  the  lama  : — 

"  For  in  vain  from  the  grasp  of  the  bigot  I  flee, 
The  most  tenderly  loved  of  my  soul 
Are  slaves  to  his  hated  control. 
He  pursues  me,  he  blasts  me  !     'Tis  in  vain  that  I  fly : 
What  remains,  but  to  curse  him ; — to  curse  him  and  die  ?  " 

It  was  the  comic  opera  rhythms  of  Pope's  "  Ode 
for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,"  the  violent  jingle  with 
which  unlyrical  poets  insist  that  they  are  writing 
lyrical  poetry.  It  was  some  years  before  Shelley 
began  to  make  a  music  out  of  the  sense  of  his 
words. 

Writing  a  few  days  later  he  appears  to  be  still 
thinking  of  Harriet  Grove.  "  She  talks  of  duty  to 
her  father.  And  this  is  your  amiable  religion."  It 
was  arranged  after  a  good  deal  of  negotiation 
that  his  father  should  allow  him  £200  a  year,  so 
that  he  seemed  to  himself  to  be  rich.  He  was 
spending  most  of  his  time  at  the  Westbrooks,  and 
had  been  too  hasty  in  criticizing  the  character  of 
Eliza. 

On  May  15  he  wrote  from  Field  Place.  He  had 
been  reconciled  to  his  father  through  the  good 
services  of  his  uncle,  Captain  Pilfold.  He  found 
that  his  sister  Elizabeth  had  become,  not  only 
intolerant,  but  worldly  and  frivolous.  No  doubt 
the  poor  girl  wished  to  enjoy  life  and  not  to  be  her 
brother's  proselyte  or  the  wife  of  his  friend,  whom 
she  had  never  seen  and  took  to  be  mad.  But,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  Shelley  had  taken  a  violent  pre- 

42 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

judice  against  the  institution  of  marriage  and  seems 
to  have  wished  Elizabeth  and  Hogg  to  dispense 
with  it.  Elizabeth  declined.  "  Matrimony,"  he 
told  Hogg  a  month  later,  "is  the  subject  of  her 
constant  and  pointed  panegyric." 

But  still  Hogg  must  be  in  love  with  Elizabeth, 
and  Shelley  wished  him  to  pay  a  secret  visit  to 
Field  Place,  where  he  should  only  walk  out  at 
midnight  for  fear  of  discovery.  But  from  the 
window  he  would  be  able  to  look  at  Elizabeth. 
Hogg  did  not  come,  but  appears  to  have  main- 
tained that  Elizabeth  was  still  perfection,  which 
Shelley  took  for  the  infatuation  of  a  lover. 

Meanwhile  he  made  an  acquaintance  of  some 
importance  to  himself  and  still  more  to  his  bio- 
graphers. Elizabeth  Hitchener  was  a  spinster 
of  twenty-eight,  and  kept  a  girls'  school  at  Hirst- 
pierpoint.  She  was  introduced  to  Shelley  by 
Captain  Pilfold  while  Shelley  was  on  a  visit  to  him 
at  Cuckfield.  She  appears  to  have  been  a  good 
woman  with  opinions  rather  beyond  her  intelligence . 
There  was  something  in  her,  we  cannot  tell  what, 
that  excited  the  enthusiasm  of  Shelley  to  a  wonder- 
ful pitch.  He  was  not  more  in  love  with  her  than 
with  other  women  ;  he  appears  in  one  of  his 
letters  to  agree  with  her  that  she  is  not  handsome, 
but  tells  her  that  she  has  "  a  tongue  of  energy  and 
an  eye  of  fire."  Her  part  in  their  friendship  was 
quite  disinterested,  if  not  wisely  conducted. 
She  made  a  fatal  mistake  when  she  went  to  live 
with  Shelley  and  his  wife  ;   but  she  did  not  know 

43 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  world  as  Madame  Meek,  the  benefactress  and 
correspondent   of   Tchaikovsky,    knew   it.    That 
strange  lady,  who  seems  to  have  come  out  of  one 
of  Turgenief's  novels,  was  determined  that  her 
romance  should  be  only  on  paper.     She  would 
not  have  it  whispered  that  she  gave  Tchaikovsky 
money   because   she   loved   him.    Therefore   she 
never  saw  him,  and  they  talked  to  each  other  only 
in  letters.     Even  so  their  friendship  came  to  an 
end ;    but  not  so  soon  as  the  friendship  of  Miss 
Hitchener  and  Shelley.     Shelley  was  never  aware 
of    his    own    capacity    for    disillusionment.     He 
thought  he  would  enjoy  talking  to  Miss  Hitchener 
as  much  as  writing  to  her,  and  that  she  would 
remain  the  "  sister  of  his  soul "  when  she  shared 
his  fireside.     Luckily  they  corresponded  for  about 
a  year  before  this  happened,  and  his  letters  to  her 
have  lately  been  published.1    The  first  of  them 
was  written  on  June  5,  181 1,  at  Field  Place  ;   and 
they  give  us  valuable  information  about  the  state 
of  his  mind  during  a  momentous  year  of  his  life. 
Mr.  Dobell,  in  his  introduction  to  them,  says 
that  they  read  like  the  novels,  fashionable  at  that 
time,  that  were  all  written  in  letters.     This  is  true, 
and  no  doubt  Shelley  felt  as  if  he  were  living  in  a 
novel  when  he  wrote  them.     He  was  the  hero  of 
his  own  romance  and  Miss  Hitchener  served  for  his 
confidante.     He    had    an    unlimited    amount    of 
sensibility  for  every  experience,  and  when  nothing 
happened  he  made  portentous  events  out  of  noth- 
1  By  Mr.  Bertram  Dobell,  who  has  also  edited  them. 

44 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

ing.  He  mystified  the  simplest  facts  ;  saw  pro- 
digies of  virtue  or  vice  in  the  most  ordinary  people  ; 
and  generally  exulted  in  the  sense  that  he  was 
making  history. 

He  had  only  met  Miss  Hitchener  once  when  he 
began  to  take  an  interest  in  her  mind.  In  his 
first  letter  to  her  he  expresses  his  usual  wish  to 
argue  about  religion.  "  If,  secure  of  your  own 
orthodoxy,  you  would  attempt  my  proselytism, 
believe  me,  I  should  be  most  happy  to  subject 
myself  to  the  danger."  Truth  is  his  God,  he  says, 
and  his  time  is  totally  vacant  for  a  polemical 
correspondence.  Christianity  is  passion  and  Deism 
reason.  Therefore  he  is  a  deist.  Certainly  his 
Deism  makes  no  appeal  to  the  passions.  His 
God  is  "  merely  a  synonym  for  the  existing  power 
of  existence." 

The  earlier  letters  are  very  ceremonious.  One 
would  suppose  that  Shelley,  like  his  father,  was  a 
disciple  of  Chesterfield.  "  Do  not  speak  any 
more  of  my  time  thrown  away,  or  you  will  compel 
me,  in  my  own  defence,  to  say  things  which, 
although  they  could  not  share  in  the  nature, 
would  participate  in  the  appearance,  of  a  com- 
pliment." He  admits  that  there  is  some  delicacy 
in  their  relations.  "  I  see  the  impropriety  of 
dining  with  you — even  of  calling  upon  you.  I 
shall  not  willingly,  however,  give  up  the  friend- 
ship and  correspondence  of  one  whom,  however 
superior  to  me,  my  arrogance  calls  an  equal." 
Here  we  have  a  hint  of  the  reason  why  he  was  so 

45 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

ceremonious  with  her.  She  was  aware  and  spoke 
of  the  difference  in  their  social  positions.  Shelley, 
as  Hogg  and  Trelawny  both  insist,  was  a  man  of 
beautiful  natural  manners,  and  he  quieted  her 
uneasiness  thus  :  "I  am  inferior  to  you,  in  every- 
thing but  the  equality  of  friendship."  His  expres- 
sions of  admiration  grow  warmer  as  the  correspond- 
ence proceeds.  One  would  think,  if  it  were  any- 
one but  Shelley,  that  he  must  be  in  love.  Indeed 
he  dares  to  say  that  he  loves  her,  but  adds,  "  Nor 
do  I  risk  the  possibility  of  that  degrading  and 
contemptible  interpretation  of  the  sacred  word ; 
nor  do  I  risk  the  supposition  that  the  lump  of 
organised  matter  which  enshrines  thy  soul 
excites  the  love  which  that  soul  alone  dare  claim. 
Henceforth  will  I  be  yours — yours  with  truth, 
sincerity,  and  unreserve."  Miss  Hitchener  knew, 
no  doubt,  that  in  using  this  dangerous  language 
he  was  bidding  defiance  to  the  passions,  for  when 
he  used  it  he  was  a  bridegroom. 

Already  before  he  went  to  Field  Place,  Hogg 
seems  to  have  warned  him  against  the  designs  of 
Eliza,  for  Shelley  wrote  to  him  in  May,  1811  :  "I 
cannot  so  deeply  see  into  the  influences  of  action 
as  to  come  to  this  odd  conclusion,  which  you 
observed  in  the  matter  of  Miss  Westbrook."  Two 
months  later  he  is  still  "  more  than  usual  calm  " 
about  Harriet.  "  Your  jokes  on  Harriet  West- 
brook  amuse  me.  It  is  a  common  error  for  people 
to  fancy  others  in  their  own  situation,  but  if  I 
know  anything  about  love,  I  am  not  in  love." 

46 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

Unfortunately  Harriet  was.  To  put  her  in  love  was 
probably  the  easiest  part  of  Eliza's  task.  There 
is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Harriet  was  designing. 
Very  likely  Eliza  told  her  that  Shelley  was  dying 
for  love  of  her.  Certainly,  if  Eliza  arranged 
matters,  she  did  so  skilfully.  Shelley  was  always 
glad  to  believe  that  anyone  was  persecuted,  and 
to  rush  in  as  a  deliverer.  The  Miss  Westbrooks 
told  him  that  their  father,  of  whose  domestic 
discipline  we  cannot  judge,  was  a  tyrant.  He 
wished  Harriet  to  go  back  to  school  and  she  did 
not  wish  to  go.  She  wrote  to  Shelley  appealing 
for  his  help.  He  gives  an  account  of  the  matter 
in  a  letter  written  to  Miss  Hitchener  some  months 
later.  He  was  staying  in  Wales  when  Harriet 
first  began  to  complain  of  her  father's  cruelty. 
"  Suicide  was  her  favourite  theme,  and  her  total 
uselessness  urged  as  its  defence.  .  .  .  Her  letters 
became  more  and  more  gloomy.  At  length  one 
assumed  a  tone  of  such  despair  as  induced  me 
to  quit  Wales  precipitately.  I  arrived  in  London. 
I  was  shocked  at  observing  the  alteration  of  her 
looks.  Little  did  I  divine  the  cause.  She  had 
become  violently  attached  to  me,  and  feared  that 
I  should  not  return  her  attachment.  Prejudice 
made  the  confession  painful.  It  was  impossible 
to  avoid  being  much  affected.  I  promised  to 
unite  my  fate  to  hers.  I  stayed  in  London 
several  days,  during  which  she  recovered  her 
spirits.  I  had  promised  at  her  bidding  to  come 
again  to   London.     They  endeavoured  to  make 

47 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

her  return  to  a  school  where  malice  and  pride 
embittered  every  hour.  She  wrote  to  me.  I 
came  to  London.  I  proposed  marriage,  for 
reasons  which  I  have  given  you,  and  she  complied. 
Blame  me  if  thou  wilt,  dearest  friend,  for  still  thou 
art  dearest  to  me  ;  yet  pity  even  the  error  if  thou 
blamest  me."  This  letter  has  a  curious  likeness 
to  the  letter  which  Tchaikovsky  wrote  to  Madame 
Meek  announcing  his  engagement,  though  it  was 
not  quite  so  prophetic  of  future  unhappiness. 
Just  after  Harriet  had  confessed  her  love  to  him, 
Shelley  wrote  to  Hogg :  4 '  How  flattering  a 
distinction  !  I  am  thinking  of  ten  million  things 
at  once.  What  have  I  said  ?  I  declare  quite 
ludicrous  !  I  advised  her  to  resist.  She  wrote  to 
say  that  resistance  was  useless,  but  that  she 
would  fly  with  me,  and  threw  herself  on  my 
protection.  We  shall  have  £200  a  year.  When 
we  find  it  run  short,  we  must  live,  I  suppose,  upon 
Love.  Gratitude  and  admiration  all  demand 
that  I  should  love  her  for  every  Soon  afterward 
he  confessed  to  Hogg  that  he  was  embarrassed 
and  melancholy.  "  I  never  was  so  fit  for  calm 
argument  as  now.  This,  I  fear,  more  resembles 
excited  action  than  inspired  passion." 

In  contriving  the  marriage  he  had  the  help 
of  his  cousin,  Charles  Grove.  He  arranged  with 
Harriet  that  he  should  meet  her  at  a  coffee-house 
in  Mount  Street  early  in  the  morning  about  August 
24.  The  exact  date  is  uncertain.  There  he  and 
his    cousin    had    breakfast.    Afterwards    Harriet 

48 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST  MARRIAGE 

appeared,  and  they  all  three  drove  off  to  the  inn 
from  which  the  coach  started.  There  they  had 
to  wait  till  evening  ;  and  then  set  off  for  Edin- 
burgh, where  they  were  married  on  August  28. 

It  was  all  fatally  easy  ;  and  there  is  a  curious 
irony  in  the  fact  that  Shelley,  who  had  often 
argued  against  marriage,  never  came  so  near  to 
reducing  it  to  an  absurdity  as  when  he,  a  boy  of 
nineteen,  found  it  possible  to  tie  himself  to  a  girl 
of  sixteen,  because  he  wished  to  preserve  her  from 
being  sent  back  to  school.  But  to  the  contention 
that  marriage  is  made  too  easy,  it  may  be  answered 
that  its  consummation  is  even  easier. 

The  bride  and  bridegroom  were  at  once  in 
straits  for  money.  Timothy  Shelley  wrote  to 
Hogg's  father  saying  that  his  son  had  withdrawn 
himself  from  his  protection  and  set  off  for  Scotland 
with  a  young  female.  He  would  give  Shelley  no 
money,  and  Mr.  Westbrook  followed  suit.  But 
Shelley  was  never  much  troubled  by  want  of 
money.  He  got  some  from  his  good-natured 
uncle  Pilfold,  who  said  that  it  was  all  very  well 
to  be  confoundedly  angry,  but  that  to  stop  the 
supplies  was  a  great  deal  too  bad.  In  the  relations 
between  Shelley  and  his  wife  there  were  at  first 
no  threats  of  future  disaster.  He  seems  to  have 
been  quite  easy  with  her,  if  not  in  any  ecstasy 
of  happiness.  In  a  few  days  Hogg  joined  them 
at  Edinburgh,  and  saw  Harriet  for  the  first  time. 
He  says  that  she  was  "  radiant  with  youth,  health, 
and  beauty."    Shelley  hailed  him  with  delight, 

4  49 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  said  they  must  never  part  again.  He  got  a 
bedroom  in  the  same  house  with  them  and  had 
plenty  of  opportunity  for  observing  Harriet 
His  account  of  her  is  very  favourable.  She  was 
not  stupid,  or  silly,  or  ill-tempered,  or  tactless, 
and  she  was  well  educated  for  her  age  and  sex 
and  social  position. 

"  I  have  seldom,  if  ever,"  says  Hogg,  "  met 
with  a  girl  who  had  read  so  much  as  she  had." 
Her  favourite  reading  was  moral  tales,  and  she 
read  aloud  incessantly.  She  never  ceased  of  her 
own  accord,  but  only  on  some  interruption.  If 
anyone  entered  the  room  she  stopped,  but  began 
again  the  moment  he  left.  She  also  read  very 
well,  with  a  clear,  distinct,  and  agreeable  voice. 
And  it  was  as  pleasant  to  look  at  her  as  to  listen 
to  her,  for  "  she  was  always  pretty,  always  bright, 
always  blooming  ;  smart,  usually  plain  in  her 
neatness  ;  without  a  spot,  without  a  wrinkle,  not 
a  hair  out  of  place.  The  ladies  said  of  her  that 
she  always  looked  as  if  she  had  just  that  moment 
stepped  out  of  a  glass  case." 

Shelley  sometimes  went  to  sleep  while  she  read, 
and  then  she  would  call  him  an  inattentive  wretch. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  she  tried  to  be  a  good  wife 
to  him,  and  was  one,  though  her  housekeeping 
was  not  good.  But  he,  who  would  make  his 
dinner  off  a  loaf  of  bread  in  the  street,  was  not 
troubled  by  that.  She  adopted  his  ideas  and  even 
his  ways  of  speech.  If  she  liked  a  place  she  would 
say,  like  him,  that  she  would  stay  there  for  ever. 

50 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

One  peculiarity  Harriet  had.  Shelley,  in  a  letter 
to  Miss  Hitchener,  told  how  she  had  threatened 
to  commit  suicide.  This  was  not  the  only  time 
that  she  spoke  of  it.  She  would  ask  Hogg  whether 
he  had  ever  thought  of  destroying  himself.  "  She 
often  discoursed  of  her  purpose  of  killing  herself 
some  day  or  other,  and  at  great  length,  in  a  calm, 
resolute  manner.  .  .  .  She  spoke  of  self-murder 
serenely  before  strangers  .  .  .  and  she  looked 
so  calm,  so  tranquil,  so  blooming,  and  so  hand- 
some,  that  the  astonished  guests  smiled." 

Shelley,  Harriet  and  Hogg  stayed  five  weeks  in 
Edinburgh,  and  then  they  went  to  York.  When 
they  reached  York,  Shelley  felt  that  he  must  get 
some  money  somehow  ;  so  he  determined  to  see  his 
father.  "  I  have  written  frequently  to  this  thought- 
less man,"  he  told  Miss  Hitchener,  "and  am  now 
determined  to  visit  him,  to  try  the  force  of  truth." 

On  October  19  he  was  at  Cuckfield  staying  with 
his  uncle  Pilfold,  and  there  he  saw  Miss  Hitchener. 
It  is  uncertain  whether  he  saw  his  father,  but  he 
got  no  money  from  him,  and  even  his  mother  was 
against  him.  While  he  was  in  Sussex  two  cala- 
mities happened.  Eliza  Westbrook  joined  Harriet 
at  York,  and  Hogg  attempted  to  seduce  Harriet. 
Shelley  was  apt  to  imagine  strange  things  and  to 
magnify  what  he  did  not  imagine  ;  but  his  accounts 
of  Hogg's  treachery  seem  to  prove  that  it  was 
real.1    He   tells   Miss   Hitchener  about   it   in   a 

1  I  have  some  doubts  myself  ;  but  will  not  enlarge  this 
book  with  a  discussion  on  a  matter  of  no  great  importance. 

51 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

series  of  letters  written  after  he  had  returned  to 
York,  and  it  is  clear  that  he  was  much  distressed, 
though  he  got  some  romantic  excitement  out  of 
his  distress.  Harriet  behaved  very  well  through- 
out, and  Shelley  was  pleased  and  touched  by  her 
behaviour.  She  had  been  heroic  in  her  resistance 
to  the  "  resistless  and  pathetic  eloquence  of  Hogg, 
in  whom,  alas  !  virtue  had  lost  one  of  its  defenders 
and  vice  had  gained  a  proselyte."  Shelley  par- 
doned Hogg  "  freely,  fully  and  completely,"  and 
there  was  no  open  rupture  in  their  friendship  ; 
but  Shelley  had  the  sense  to  see  that  they  could 
no  longer  live  together. 

Without  saying  anything  to  Hogg  they  left 
York  suddenly  for  Keswick,  a  place  chosen  by 
Harriet  and  Eliza,  who  controlled  Harriet's  choice 
in  most  things.  She  had  good  reason  to  dislike 
Hogg  and  we  need  not  believe  all  that  he  says 
against  her  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  she  was  tiresome 
and  unwise,  and  it  was  unfortunate  that  Shelley 
did  not  flee  with  his  wife  from  her,  as  he  had  fled 
from  Hogg.  Hogg  tells  us  that  she  was  very 
plain,  though  Harriet  thought  her  beautiful ;  her 
face  scarred  with  smallpox  and  the  colour  of  rice 
boiled  in  dirty  water.  Her  eyes  were  dark,  but 
dull ;  her  hair  black  and  glossy,  but  coarse  ;  and 
she  spent  a  great  part  of  the  day  brushing  it.  But 
this  may  have  been  an  excuse  to  leave  the  bride 
and  bridegroom  together.  Unfortunately  when 
she  was  with  them  she  did  mischief.  She  had 
always  managed  Harriet    and  could  not    break 

52 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

herself  off  the  habit,  even  if  she  tried.  After  the 
fashion  of  that  time  she  assumed  that  Harriet's 
health  was  delicate,  and  began  to  talk  of  her  nerves. 
Whenever  it  was  proposed  that  anything  should 
be  done,  she  would  cry,  "  Good  gracious,  what 
would  Miss  Warne  say  ?  "  Miss  Warne  was  a 
friend  of  Eliza's,  and  a  kind  of  Mrs.  Harris,  though 
with  a  real  existence,  a  silent  authority  always 
quoted  in  support  of  Eliza's  wishes.  Shelley  at 
first  tried  to  make  the  best  of  her.  "  She  is,"  he 
told  Miss  Hitchener,  "  a  woman  rather  superior 
to  the  generality.  She  is  prejudiced  ;  but  her 
prejudices  I  do  not  consider  unvanquishable. 
Indeed  I  have  already  conquered  some  of  them." 
Yet  he  did  not  make  it  plain  that  he  meant  to  be 
master  in  his  own  house,  and  that  Eliza  was  only 
a  visitor.  He  was  always  ready  to  impose  on 
himself  and  others  burdens  too  heavy  to  be  borne, 
and  he  never  knew  how  to  get  rid  of  them. 

At  Keswick  Shelley  took  a  small  furnished 
house  called  Chesnut  Cottage,  with  a  view  of  Der- 
wentwater  and  Bassenthwaite.  He  corresponded 
lavishly  with  Miss  Hitchener  and  did  not  break  off 
communication  with  Hogg. 

He  still  thinks  marriage  "  an  evil  of  immense 
and  extensive  magnitude  "  ;  but  with  unexpected 
sagacity  he  sees  that  a  previous  reformation  in 
himself — and  that  a  general  and  a  great  one — is 
requisite  before  it  may  be  remedied.  He  wishes 
there  was  no  difference  of  sex.     "  These  detestable 

53 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

distinctions  will  surely  be  abolished  in  a  future 
state  of  being."  He  conjectures  that  his  friend- 
ship with  Miss  Hitchener  may  have  begun  in  a 
former  existence.  "The  creation  of  the  soul  at 
birth  is  a  thing  I  do  not  like."  He  heard  from 
Captain  Pilfold  that  his  father  and  grandfather 
intended  to  propose  to  him  that,  if  he  would 
consent  to  entail  the  estate  on  his  eldest  son,  he 
should  receive  an  allowance  of  £2,000  a  year.  The 
very  suggestion  that  for  a  bribe  he  would  be 
prepared  to  "entail  £120,000  of  command  over 
labour,  of  power  to  remit  this,  to  employ  it  for 
beneficent  purposes,"  on  one  whom  he  did  not 
know,  filled  him  with  indignation.  Those  who 
cannot  be  bribed  into  an  act  of  dishonesty  are  not 
rare  ;  but  Shelley  was  not  asked  to  do  anything 
that  most  honest  men  would  consider  wrong  ;  and 
his  refusal,  at  a  time  when  he  had  very  little  money, 
proves  that  a  scrupulous  conscience  was  not  a 
mere  luxury  to  him. 

On  December  13  Shelley  wrote  to  his  father 
a  conciliatory  letter.  He  had  the  sincerest  wish, 
he  said,  "of  being  again  on  those  terms  with 
you  which  existed  some  time  since,"  though  he 
could  make  no  promise  of  concealing  his  opinions 
in  political  or  religious  matters. 

Timothy  Shelley  answered  in  the  same  spirit. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Westbrook  agreed  to  allow  Harriet 
£200  a  year,  and  Timothy  promised  the  same  sum 
to  Shelley.  But  he  added  that  he  did  it  to  prevent 
him  from  cheating  strangers.     In  spite  of  many 

54 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

attempts  and  negotiations,  the  father  and  son 
could  not  be  friends.  No  doubt  Timothy  resented 
Shelley's  airs  of  moral  superiority,  and  took  this 
opportunity  of  letting  him  know  that  he  was  no 
better  than  he  should  be. 

At  Keswick  Shelley  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Southey,  whom  he  was  anxious  to  know.  Before 
he  met  him,  he  determined  to  reproach  him  for 
his  tergiversation.  Once  bigotry,  tyranny,  and 
law  had  been  hateful  to  him  ;  but  now  the  con- 
stitution of  England  was  "  inflated  with  the  prosti- 
tuted exertions  of  his  pen."  However,  they  got 
on  well  enough  at  their  first  meeting.  Shelley 
found  that  Southey  was  still  an  advocate  of  liberty 
and  equality,  looking  forward  to  "  a  state  when 
all  shall  be  perfected,  and  matter  become  subjected 
to  the  omnipotence  of  mind/'  But  for  the  present 
he  was  an  advocate  for  existing  establishments 
and  against  Catholic  emancipation  and  parlia- 
mentary reform.  Shelley  differed  from  him,  of 
course,  but  found  him  a  great  man  and  a  man  of 
virtue,  though  without  great  reasoning  powers. 
Southey  took  kindly  to  Shelley.  "There  is  a 
man  at  Keswick,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  who  acts 
upon  me  as  my  own  ghost  would  do.  He  is  just 
what  I  was  in  1794.  ...  He  has  come  to  the 
fittest  physician  in  the  world.  At  present  he  has 
got  to  the  Pantheistic  stage  of  Philosophy  ;  and 
in  the  course  of  a  week,  I  expect  he  will  be  a 
Berkeleyan,  for  I  have  put  him  upon  a  course  of 
Berkeley.  ...    I  tell  him  that  all  the  difference 

55 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

between  us  is  that  he  is  nineteen,  and  I  am  thirty- 
seven." 

Southey  held  that  ' '  expediency  ought  to  be 
made  the  ground  of  politics,  but  not  of  morals." 
Shelley  urged  that  "  the  most  fatal  error  that  ever 
happened  in  the  world  was  the  separation  of 
political  and  ethical  science,"  that  "  politics  were 
morals  comprehensively  enforced."  But  Southey 
had  "  a  very  happy  knack,  when  truth  goes  against 
him,  of  saying,  '  Oh,  when  you  are  as  old  as  I  am, 
you  will  think  like  me.'  "  Shelley,  who  could 
not  understand  the  fears  of  Southey,  was  not  sure 
that  he  was  "  quite  uninfluenced  by  venality." 
"  His  writings  solely  support  a  numerous  family. 
His  sweet  children  are  such  amiable  creatures  that 
I  almost  forgive  what  I  suspect.  His  wife  is  very 
stupid.  Mrs.  Coleridge  is  worse."  Shelley  did 
not  meet  Coleridge,  and  Coleridge  afterwards 
regretted  it,  thinking  he  might  have  been  of  more 
use  to  Shelley  than  Southey  was.  Shelley  was 
less  and  less  able  to  put  up  with  Southey's  opinions. 
He  is  "  corrupted  by  the  world,  contaminated  by 
custom."  He  called  George  IV  the  best  monarch 
that  ever  adorned  a  throne.  So  his  conversation 
lost  its  charm  ;  "  except  it  be  the  charm  of  horror 
at  so  hateful  a  prostitution  of  talents." 

At  the  same  time  Shelley  made  the  acquaint- 
ance, by  letter,  of  a  man  who  was  to  have  a  great 
influence  upon  his  mind  and  fate.  He  had  read 
Godwin's  "  Political  Justice  "  at  Eton,  and  it  had 
come   to   be   almost   a   Bible   to   him.     William 

56 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

Godwin  was  a  man  of  strange  character.  He  had 
an  honest  intellect,  but  his  mind  was  gradually 
corrupted  by  his  incapacity  to  live  upon  his  own 
income,  and  by  incessant  borrowing.  He  specu- 
lated with  the  abstract  coldness,  but  without  the 
wit,  of  a  French  philosopher  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  He  was,  indeed,  the  representative  of 
French  philosophy  in  England.  His  "  Political 
Justice  "  encouraged  revolutionaries  in  England, 
but  he  was  not  a  revolutionary  himself.  The 
French  Revolution  had  frightened  him,  but  it 
did  not  make  his  opinions  reactionary.  It  only 
caused  him  to  shrink  from  putting  them  in 
practice. 

Shelley  had  supposed  that  Godwin  was  dead. 
He  now  discovered  that  he  was  alive,  and  in 
January,  1812,  wrote  to  him  a  long  and  fervent 
letter.  "I  had  enrolled  your  name,"  he  wrote, 
"in  the  list  of  the  honourable  dead.  I  had  felt 
regret  that  the  glory  of  your  being  had  passed 
from  this  earth  of  ours.  It  is  not  so.  You  still 
live,  and  I  firmly  believe  are  still  planning  the 
welfare  of  humankind."  He  himself,  he  says,  is 
young  and  ardent  in  the  cause  of  philanthropy 
and  truth.  His  course  has  been  short  but  eventful. 
He  has  seen  much  of  human  prejudice,  suffered 
much  from  human  persecution.  "Is  it  strange 
that,  defying  prejudice  as  I  have  done,  I  should 
outstep  the  limits  of  custom's  prescription,  and 
endeavour  to  make  my  desire  useful  by  a  friend- 
ship with  William  Godwin  ?  "     Godwin  answered, 

57 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

complaining  that  the  generalizing  character  of  his 
letter  rendered  it  deficient  in  interest,  and  that 
Shelley  was  not  yet  an  individual  to  him.  Shelley 
was  naturally  well  pleased  to  give  information 
about  himself,  and  his  next  letter  contained  a 
short  but  romantic  autobiography,  beginning 
with  his  differences  with  his  father.  "  I  was 
required  to  love  because  it  was  my  duty  to  love  ; 
it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  remark  that  coercion 
obviated  its  own  intention."  He  had  published 
"  Zastrozzi "  and  "St.  Irvyne,"  he  says,  before 
the  age  of  seventeen.  He  would  send  them  to 
poor  Godwin,  though  "  quite  uncharacteristic  of 
me  as  I  now  am."  "  Political  Justice  "  had  cured 
him  of  romance.  He  rose  from  its  perusal  a  wiser 
and  a  better  man,  finding  that  this  universe  of  ours 
was  enough  to  excite  the  interests  of  the  heart, 
enough  to  employ  the  discussions  of  reason.  No 
sooner  had  he  formed  his  principles  than  he  was 
anxious  to  disseminate  their  benefits.  As  a  result 
he  had  been  twice  expelled  from  Eton,  but  recalled 
by  the  interference  of  his  father.  When  he  went 
to  Oxford  he  found  Oxonian  society  insipid.  He 
could  not  descend  to  common  life.  "The  sublime 
interest  of  poetry,  lofty  and  exalted  achievements, 
the  proselytism  of  the  world,  the  equalisation 
of  its  inhabitants,  were  to  me  the  soul  of  my 
soul." 

Two  statements  in  this  letter,  one  trivial,  the 
other  more  important,  are  certainly  untrue. 
Shelley  did  not  publish  his  two  romances  before 

58 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST  MARRIAGE 

he  was  seventeen,  nor  was  he  either  once  or  twice 
expelled  from  Eton.  At  least  there  is  no  evidence 
in  support  of  this  statement. 

Godwin  replied,  advising  him  to  make  it  up  with 
his  father,  and  to  learn  more  before  he  set  out  to 
reform  the  world.  This  produced  another  long 
letter  from  Shelley  full  of  delight  that  Godwin 
should  be  his  friend  and  adviser,  the  moderator 
of  his  enthusiasm,  the  personal  exciter  and 
strengthener  of  his  virtuous  habits.  He  had 
known  no  tutor  or  adviser  (not  excepting  his 
father)  from  whose  lessons  and  suggestions  he  had 
not  recoiled  with  disgust.  He  was  not  angry  with 
his  father,  but  desired  a  reconciliation,  though 
not  at  the  price  of  a  renunciation  of  his  opinions. 
Yet  he  had  never  loved  his  father — "  it  was  not 
from  hardness  of  heart,  for  I  have  loved  and  do 
love  warmly." 

Godwin  had  told  him  that,  being  yet  a  scholar, 
he  ought  to  have  no  intolerable  itch  to  become 
a  teacher.  Shelley  replied  humbly  to  this,  "  I 
hope  in  the  course  of  our  communication  to  acquire 
that  sobriety  of  spirit  which  is  the  characteristic 
of  true  heroism."  He  would  not  again  crudely 
obtrude  the  question  of  atheism  on  the  world. 
But  he  wished  at  the  same  time  to  improve  his 
own  powers  and  to  diffuse  true  and  virtuous 
principles.  In  fact,  not  even  Godwin  could 
induce  him  to  give  up  writing  and  publishing  what 
he  wrote.  At  the  end  of  this  letter,  which  is 
dated  January  16,  1812,  he  says  that  he  is  setting 

59 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

off  for  Dublin  in  a  few  days.  There  were  several 
reasons  for  this  change.  In  the  first  place,  he 
was  getting  tired  of  Keswick.  "Though  the 
face  of  the  country  is  lovely,"  he  wrote  to  Miss 
Hitchener,  "  the  people  are  detestable.  The 
manufacturers,  with  their  contamination,  have 
crept  into  the  peaceful  vale,  and  deformed  the 
loveliness  of  nature  with  human  taint.  The 
debauched  servants  of  the  great  families  who 
resort  contribute  to  the  total  extinction  of  mor- 
ality." Soon  after  he  says,  "  We  have  now  serious 
thoughts  of  immediately  going  to  Ireland.  .  .  . 
I  am  now  writing  an  address  to  the  poor  Irish 
Catholics."  It  was  to  be  cheaply  printed  in  large 
sheets  to  be  stuck  about  the  walls  of  Dublin.  So 
he  was  drawn  to  Ireland  by  that  desire  to  reform 
the  world  against  which  Godwin  had  so  vainly 
warned  him. 

Miss  Hitchener  must  come  with  them.  "  If 
two  hearts,  panting  for  the  happiness  and  liberty 
of  mankind,  were  joined  by  union  and  proximity, 
as  they  are  by  friendship  and  sympathy,"  what 
might  they  not  do  ?  Harriet  and  Eliza  longed  to 
see  her.  But  had  she  any  idea  of  marrying  ? 
He  would  answer  the  question  for  her.  She  had 
not.  Therefore  she  must  come  to  live  with  them  ; 
for  Harriet  was  above  the  meanness  of  jealousy. 
He  enclosed  a  poem  about  the  devil,  and  insisted 
that  he  believed  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
though  he  could  not  tell  her  why  in  a  letter,  at 
least  not  clearly.     He  would  get  Godwin's  opinion 

60 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

on  the  question  as  soon  as  he  could.  Harriet  also 
wrote  to  Miss  Hitchener,  like  a  good  girl,  echoing 
Shelley's  wish  that  she  would  come  with  them 
and  also  his  sentiments.  "  How  do  I  every  day 
hate  the  foolish  customs  of  society  that  shackle 
all  our  projects  I  "  In  the  same  letter  she  alludes 
to  a  mysterious  attack  that  was  said  to  have  been 
made  on  Shelley  on  January  19.  The  story  is 
that  Shelley,  hearing  a  noise  about  seven  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  went  to  his  cottage  door,  and  on 
opening  it  received  a  blow  which  struck  him 
senseless.1  The  assailants  fled  and  were  never 
found.  People  in  the  place  thought  Shelley  had 
imagined  the  assault.  He  himself  made  light  of  it 
in  writing  to  Miss  Hitchener.  No  doubt  it  was 
either  a  symptom  or  a  cause  of  his  desire  to  leave 
Keswick.  Miss  Hitchener  would  not  come  with 
them  to  Ireland,  because  she  had  to  look  after 
some  American  pupils.  But  Shelley  meant  to  go 
to  Wales  after  Ireland,  and  there  he  intended  she 
should  join  them.  "  I  shall  try  to  domesticate 
in  some  antique  feudal  castle  whose  mouldering 
turrets  are  fit  emblems  of  decaying  inequality  and 
oppression.  .  .  .  Perhaps  you  will  bring  the  dear 
little  Americans  and  my  mother,  Mrs.  Adams  (a 
lady  whom  Miss  Hitchener  called  the  mother  of  her 
soul  and  in  whose  maternity  Shelley  was  therefore 
determined  to  share).  Perhaps  Godwin  will 
come.     I  shall  try  to  induce  him." 

1  This  account  of  the  matter  was  got  by  Professor  Dowden 
from  the  Cumberland  Pacquet  of  January  28,  1812. 

6l 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Miss  Hitchener  was  afraid  of  scandal ;  but,  said 
Shelley,  "let  us  attempt  to  form  this  Paradise 
and  defy  the  destroyers.  Calm,  consistent  reason- 
ing will  defeat  the  most  terrible."  And  then  they 
would  inspire  each  other.  "  How  consummate 
then  might  not  our  publications  be."  Harriet 
also  wrote  again,  just  like  Shelley,  but  a  very 
pretty  letter.  "  I  know  I  am  much  younger  than 
yourself  and  that  your  judgment  is  much  superior 
to  mine.  .  .  .  Yet  if  you  knew  how  ardent  we 
are  to  have  you  near  us  I  am  sure  you  would 
comply."  Like  a  good  wife  Harriet  was  ready  to 
outdo  Shelley  himself  in  her  ardour  for  Ireland. 
"  I  am  Irish  ;  I  claim  kinship  with  them.  I  have 
done  with  the  English.  I  have  witnessed  too 
much  of  John  Bull,  and  I  am  ashamed  of  him." 
Then  she  goes  on  to  speak  of  Eliza.  "  I  did  think, 
before  I  was  acquainted  with  you  (she  had  never 
seen  Miss  Hitchener),  that  she  was  the  best  and 
most  superior  woman  in  the  world."  She  ends  : 
"  There  seems  to  be  sad  work  in  Ireland ;  but  I 
hope  Percy  will  escape  all  prosecutions." 

Shelley  went  to  Ireland  with  the  intention  of 
preaching  a  vague  gospel  of  virtue,  wisdom,  toler- 
ance, and  benevolence  to  a  wretched,  ignorant, 
distracted  people.  Before  he  started  Godwin 
reproved  him  for  his  presumption  ;  he  told  Shelley 
that  early  authorship  was  detrimental  to  the  cause 
of  general  happiness.  Shelley  bestowed  deep  and 
disinterested  thought  on  the  subject,  but  could  not 
agree  with  him.     Therefore  he  had  prepared  an 

62 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST  MARRIAGE 

address  to  the  Catholics  of  Ireland,  "  consisting  of 
the  benevolent  and  tolerant  deductions  of  philo- 
sophy reduced  to  the  simplest  language  and 
attempting  to  convey  to  the  vulgar  mind  senti- 
ments of  universal  philanthropy." 

At  the  beginning  of  February,  1812,  Shelley, 
Harriet,  and  Eliza  left  Keswick  for  Dublin.  They 
had  a  rough  journey,  and  reached  Dublin  on 
February  12.  On  the  way  Shelley  found  time  to 
write  a  long  letter  to  Miss  Hitchener.  He  ended 
by  asking  what  she  was  to  be  called  when  she  came 
to  live  with  them.  "  Eliza's  name  is  '  Eliza,' 
and  '  Miss  Hitchener '  is  too  long,  too  broad,  and 
too  deep."  Miss  Hitchener  answered  that  she 
would  like  to  be  called  Portia,  and  Harriet  gently 
protested.  "I  do  not  like  the  name  you  have 
taken  :  but  mind,  only  the  name.  You  are  fully 
worthy  of  it  ;  but  being  a  name  so  much  out  of  the 
common  way,  it  excites  so  much  curiosity  in  the 
mind  of  the  hearer.  This  is  my  only  reason  for 
not  liking  it.  I  had  thought  it  would  have  been 
one  more  common  and  more  pleasing  to  the  ear." 
Two  days  after  their  arrival  Shelley  wrote  a  long 
letter  to  Miss  Hitchener,  in  which  his  ardour 
carried  him  from  prose  into  blank  verse.  Here  is  a 
passage  on  Time  :  "  Proceed,  thou  giant,  conquer- 
ing and  to  conquer  !  March  on  thy  lonely  way  ! 
The  nations  fall  beneath  thy  noiseless  footstep : 
pyramids,  that  for  millenniums  have  defied  the 
blast  and  laughed  at  lightnings,  thou  dost  crush 
to  nought,"  etc.    The  news  of  the  establishment 

63 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  a  republic  in  Mexico  incites  him  to  undisguised 

verse  : — 

"Cotopaxi,1  let  the  sound 

Through  thy  sister  mountains  ring, 
Till  each  valley  smile  around 
At  the  blissful  welcoming." 

Before  Shelley's  address  was  finished  he  was 
writing  another  to  follow  it,  "with  downright 
proposals  for  instituting  associations  for  bettering 
the  conditions  of  humankind.  .  .  .  Oh,  that  I 
may  be  a  successful  apostle  of  this  true  religion, 
the  religion  of  philanthropy  !  At  all  events  I  will 
have  a  debating  society  and  see  what  will  grow  out 
of  that.  This  is  the  crisis  for  the  attempt."  Eliza 
was  set  to  collect  passages  from  the  works  of  Tom 
Paine.  These  were  to  be  published  but  were  not 
likely  to  excite  the  enthusiasm  of  Irish  Catholics. 

Eliza  also  "  keeps  our  common  stock  of  money, 
for  safety,  in  some  hole  or  corner  of  her  dress, 
but  we  are  not  all  dependent  on  her  though  she 
gives  it  out  as  we  want  it."  But  money  is  of  no 
account.  "  Let  us,"  he  cries,  "  mingle  our  identi- 
ties inseparably,  and  burst  upon  tyrants  with  the 
accumulated  impetuosity  of  our  acquirements  and 
resolutions." 

The  address  burst  upon  them  on  February  25. 
Shelley's  effort  to  write  in  the  simplest  language 
improved  his  style,  but  his  matter  was  not  cal- 
culated to  please  or  interest  the  Irish.     "  I  seek 

1  He  credits  Cotopaxi  with  an  ardour  as  disinterested  as 
his  own.  A  volcano  in  Ecuador  was  not  likely  to  take 
much  interest  in  a  revolution  in  Mexico. 

64 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST   MARRIAGE 

your  confidence,"  he  says,  "  not  that  I  may  betray 
it,  but  that  I  may  teach  you  to  be  happy,  and  wise, 
and  good."  He  then  warns  them  against  priest- 
craft. They  are  to  take  care  that,  whilst  one 
tyranny  is  destroyed,  another  more  fierce  and 
terrible  does  not  spring  up.  "  Take  care  of  smooth- 
faced impostors,  who  talk  indeed  of  freedom, 
but  who  will  cheat  you  into  slavery."  The  address 
is  long,  and  concludes  with  the  statement  that 
the  writer  has  come  to  Ireland  "  to  spare  no  pains 
where  expenditure  may  purchase  your  real  benefit." 
Writing  to  Godwin,  Shelley  explained  that  he 
used  expenditure  here  in  a  moral  sense.  Some 
Irishmen,  it  is  said,  preferred  to  take  the  word  in 
its  ordinary  meaning. 

Writing  to  Miss  Hitchener  on  February  27, 
Shelley  said  that  400  copies  of  the  address  had  been 
distributed  and  had  created  a  sensation  of 
wonder  in  Dublin.  "  I  stand  at  the  balcony 
of  our  window  and  watch  till  I  see  a  man  who 
looks  likely :  I  throw  a  book  to  him."  Harriet 
adds  :  "I'm  sure  you  would  laugh  were  you  to  see 
us  give  the  pamphlets.  We  throw  them  out  of 
window  and  give  them  to  men  that  we  pass  in 
the  streets.  For  myself  I  am  ready  to  die  of 
laughter  when  it  is  done,  and  Percy  looks  so  grave. 
Yesterday  we  put  one  into  a  woman's  hood  of  a 
cloak.  She  knew  nothing  of  it  and  we  passed 
her.  I  could  hardly  get  on,  my  muscles  were  so 
irritated." 

Shelley  had  in  his  mind  a  plan  for  proselytizing 
5  65 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  young  men  at  Dublin  College.  "  Those  who 
are  not  entirely  given  up  to  the  grossness  of  dis- 
sipation are  perhaps  reclaimable."  He  soon  fell 
out  of  conceit  with  the  Irish.  "  Good  principles 
are  scarce  here,"  he  complained.  '  The  public 
papers  are  either  oppositionist  or  ministerial. 
One  is  as  contemptible  and  narrow  as  the  other. 
I  wish  I  could  change  this.  I,  of  course,  am 
hated  by  both  these  parties.  ...  I  have  met  with 
some  waverers  between  Christianity  and  Deism. 
I  shall  attempt  to  make  them  reject  all  the  bad 
and  take  all  the  good  of  the  Jewish  books.  I  have 
often  thought  that  the  moral  sayings  of  Jesus 
Christ  might  be  very  useful,  if  selected  from  the 
mystery  and  immorality  which  surrounds  them  ; 
it  is  a  little  work  I  have  in  contemplation." 

On  February  28  he  went  to  a  meeting  on  Catholic 
Emancipation  and  spoke  for  more  than  an  hour 
after  O'Connell.  He  was  cheered  when  he  said  that 
he  blushed  for  England,  but  hissed  when  he  spoke 
of  religion,  though  he  did  so  in  terms  of  respect. 

The  proposals  for  an  association  of  philan- 
thropists to  accomplish  the  regeneration  of  Ireland 
appeared  on  March  2.  Its  immediate  objects 
were  stated  to  be  Catholic  Emancipation  and  the 
Repeal  of  the  Union.  Shelley  did  not  think  that 
Catholic  Emancipation  would  do  much  for  the 
liberty  and  happiness  of  the  Irish,  but  he  was 
inimical  to  all  disqualifications  for  opinion.  Also 
he  hears  the  teeth  of  the  palsied  beldame,  Super- 
stition, chatter,  which  naturally  gives  him  pleasure. 

66 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

Most  of  the  proposals  are  very  vague.  They 
contain  many  lofty  sentiments,  but  do  not  urge 
the  doing  of  anything  in  particular.  The  members 
of  the  association  are  to  employ  the  same  means 
that  he  employs,  and  he  would  like  those  who  are 
favourably  inclined  towards  his  project  to  com- 
municate personally  with  him. 

But  he  was  growing  more  and  more  discouraged, 
and  longed  to  be  with  Miss  Hitchener  and  Peace. 
His  association  proceeds  but  slowly,  and  he  fears 
it  will  not  be  established.  Prejudices  are  so 
violent  that  more  hate  him  as  a  freethinker  than 
love  him  as  a  votary  of  freedom. 

On  March  4  Godwin  wrote  him  a  long  letter 
protesting  against  his  design  of  forming  an  associa- 
tion. "  If  I  may  be  allowed  to  understand  my 
book  on  '  Political  Justice,'  its  pervading  principle 
is  that  association  is  a  most  ill-chosen  and  ill- 
qualified  mode  of  endeavouring  to  promote  the  poli- 
tical happiness  of  mankind."  "Does  it  not  follow 
that  you  have  read  my  writings  very  slightly  ?  " 

Godwin  then  states  very  clearly  the  chief  de- 
fect in  Shelley's  understanding,  a  defect  which  he 
got  from  the  cold  yet  daring  philosophers  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  "  One  principle  that  I 
believe  is  wanting  in  you,  and  all  our  too-fervent 
and  impetuous  reformers,  is  the  thought  that 
almost  every  institution  or  form  of  society  is  good 
in  its  place,  and  in  the  period  of  time  to  which 
it  belongs."  Shelley  had  no  historical  sense.  He 
never  understood  that  all  the  institutions  which  he 

67 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

hated  had  been  made  by  men  of  the  same  nature 
as  those  whom  he  wished  to  deliver  from  such 
institutions. 

Godwin  also  told  him  that  he  did  well  to  write 
much,  but  not  to  publish  yet.  "  It  is  beautiful 
to  correct  our  errors,  to  make  each  day  a  comment 
on  the  last,  and  to  grow  perpetually  wiser ;  but 
all  this  need  not  be  done  before  the  public."  The 
letter  ended  with  a  pleasant  rebuke.  "To  des- 
cend from  great  things  to  small,  I  can  perceive 
that  you  are  already  infected  with  the  air  of  that 
country.  Your  letter  with  its  enclosures  cost  me, 
by  post,  £1  is.  8d.  ;  and  you  say  that  you  send 
it  in  this  way  to  save  expense." 

Shelley  replied  with  meek  impenitence.  He 
knows  that  he  is  vain  ;  but  he  believes  that  the 
line  of  conduct  he  is  now  pursuing  will  produce  a 
preponderance  of  good.  He  has  not  read  God- 
win's writings  slightly  ;  but  "  Political  Justice  " 
had  been  published  in  1793,  and  men  had  not  ceased 
to  fight,  nor  had  vice  or  misery  vanished  from  the 
earth.  From  this  he  infers  that  the  discussion, 
reading,  inquiry,  and  perpetual  communication, 
which  Godwin  recommended  in  that  book,  will 
not  avail  to  improve  the  lot  of  mankind.  Hence 
his  project  for  a  Philanthropic  Association.  His 
address  was  designed  to  operate  on  the  Irish  mob, 
and  to  awaken  a  moral  sense  in  them.  "  Might  not 
an  unadorned  display  of  moral  truth,  suited  to 
their  comprehensions,  produce  the  best  effects." 

Godwin  feared  that  Shelley  would  bring  calami- 

68 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

ties  on  himself  and  the  Irish  people.  "  Shelley," 
he  wrote,  "  you  are  preparing  a  scene  of  blood  !  " 
But  Godwin  took  this  adventure  too  seriously. 
Shelley  talked  to  the  Irish  about  things  of  which 
they  knew  and  cared  nothing,  and  they  paid  no 
heed  to  him.  It  was  not  likely  that  the  arguments 
of  an  English  boy  would  cause  them  to  desert 
their  national  and  persecuted  faith.  "I  do  not 
like  Lord  Fingal,  or  any  of  the  Catholic  aristocracy," 
Shelley  wrote  to  Miss  Hitchener.  Nor  did  he  like 
Curran  when  he  came  to  know  him  ;  for  Curran, 
when  he  should  have  been  talking  of  reason  and 
tolerance  and  freedom,  only  made  jokes.  "  I 
may  not  possess  sufficient  taste  to  relish  humour," 
Shelley  wrote  to  Godwin,  "  or  his  incessant  comi- 
cality may  weary  that  which  I  possess."  He  never 
had  a  sense  of  humour,  for  that  is  the  result  of  a 
joyful  sense  of  the  imperfection  of  this  life  ;  and 
Shelley  to  the  end  of  his  days  remained  impatient 
of  everything  imperfect.  It  was  in  Ireland  that  he 
first  became  a  vegetarian  ;  and  that,  together  with 
an  Irish  servant  he  took  back  with  him  across 
the  Channel,  was  the  chief  result  of  his  visit. 

He,  Harriet,  and  Eliza  left  Dublin  for  Holyhead 
on  April  4,  1812.  On  April  18  he  wrote  to  Miss 
Hitchener  from  Rhayader  in  Radnorshire,  where 
he  had  stayed  the  summer  before.  He  was  going 
to  take  a  house  with  two  hundred  acres  of  arable 
land,  and  hoped  to  pay  the  rent  by  farming.  "  The 
end  of  June,"  he  said,  ".  is  the  time  fixed  for  our 
meeting.     Oh  that  the  hours  which  divide  that 

69 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

time  from  the  present  may  roll  fast ! "  He  proposes 
that  she  should  bring  her  father  with  her,  and  that 
he  should  manage  the  farm.  It  appears  that  about 
this  time  some  scandal  was  talked  about  Shelley 
and  Miss  Hitchener,  to  whom  Mrs.  Pilfold  had 
mentioned  it.  "It  raises  a  smile  of  bitterness  at 
the  world,"  he  wrote  to  his  Portia,  "  when  I  think 
on  the  only  possible  report  which  Mrs.  Pilfold  can 
have  treated  you  with.  What  will  she  have 
recourse  to  next.  /  unfaithful  to  my  Harriet  ! 
You  a  female  Hogg  !  Common  sense  should 
laugh  such  an  idea  to  scorn,  if  indignation  would 
wait  till  it  could  be  looked  upon  !  " 

"  I  have  much  to  talk  to  you  of,"  he  says  to 
Miss  Hitchener,  "innate  passions,  God,  Christian- 
ity, etc.,  when  we  meet.  Would  not  '  co-existent 
with  our  organisation  '  be  a  more  correct  phrase  for 
passions  than  '  innate '  ?  I  think  I  can  prove  to  you 
that  our  God  is  the  same."  Alas,  passions  do  not 
become  less  dangerous,  even  if  we  say  that  they  are 
co-existent  with  our  organization  instead  of  innate. 

They  were  not  to  meet  at  Rhayader,  for  Shelley 
could  not  find  the  required  security  for  the  pur- 
chase money  of  the  estate.  He  wrote  there  a 
poem  of  some  length  and  more  merit,  perhaps, 
than  any  of  his  earlier  verses,  in  which  he  exulted 
in  his  present  happiness  compared  with  his  grief  of 

a  year  ago. 

"  How  do  I  feel  my  happiness  ? 
I  cannot  tell,  but  they  may  guess 
Whose  every  gloomy  feeling  gone, 
Friendship  and  passion  feel  alone." 

70 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST  MARRIAGE 

The  construction  here  is  confused,  but  the  lan- 
guage is  simple  ;  and  the  metre  is  already  handled 
with  some  promise  of  his  future  triumphs  in  it. 
But  the  poem,  like  another  written  a  few  months 
later,  is  mainly  interesting  because  it  proves  him 
to  have  been  still  quite  happy  with  Harriet  and 
indeed  thoroughly  in  love  with  her. 

They  went  from  Rhayader  to  Lynmouth,  then 
perhaps  the  most  beautiful  place  in  England. 
There  they  took  a  cottage,  and  there,  at  last, 
in  July,  1812,  Miss  Hitchener  came  to  live  with 
them  ;  but  they  called  her  Bessie,  not  Portia. 

With  her  Shelley  used  to  set  little  watertight 
boxes,  containing  his  "  Declaration  of  Rights," 
sailing  in  the  sea.  The  declaration  contained 
his  political  creed  in  thirty-one  articles.  He  also 
attached  it  to  fire  balloons,  which  he  set  off  in  the 
evening.  Thus  he  was  able  to  give  simultaneous 
pleasure  both  to  the  child  and  the  revolutionary 
in  himself.  At  Lynmouth  also  he  was  writing 
"  Queen  Mab,"  the  first  of  his  works  in  which 
there  is  any  promise  of  a  great  poet.  "  The 
Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future,"  he  wrote, 
"  are  the  grand  and  comprehensive  topics  of  this 
poem.  I  have  not  yet  half-exhausted  the  second 
of  them." 

In  August  Shelley's  Irish  servant,  Dan  Healey, 
was  arrested  for  posting  the  Declaration  of  Rights 
about  Barnstaple,  and  was  fined  £200.  Shelley 
could  not  raise  the  money,  and  in  default  of  pay- 
ment Healey  was  sent  to  prison  for  six  months. 

7i 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

The  Mayor  of  Barnstaple  wrote  to  the  Home 
Secretary,  Lord  Sidmouth,  about  Shelley,  and  it 
was  decided  that  he  should  be  watched  but  not 
prosecuted.  Shelley,  having  made  what  provision 
he  could  for  his  servant  in  gaol,  left  Lynmouth 
suddenly  and  went  to  Tremadoc  on  the  coast  of 
Carnarvonshire.  The  unfortunate  Godwin,  who 
had  been  pressed  to  pay  him  a  visit,  took  him  at 
his  word,  and  after  a  slow  and  unpleasant  journey 
from  Bristol  by  sea,  arrived  at  Lynmouth  to 
find  Shelley  and  his  family  departed.  All  his 
life  he  had  this  habit  of  making  sudden  flights 
from  places  where  he  had  vowed  to  live  for  ever. 
When  he  found  another  eternal  abode  his  books, 
Hogg  tells  us,  were  at  once  dispatched  thither, 
"  but  with  so  wild  a  precipitance  and^such  head- 
long hurry  that  ancients  and  moderns  alike  missed 
their  way."  Tremadoc  was  a  little  town  on  land 
that  had  been  lately  reclaimed  from  the  sea  by  a 
Mr.  Madock  and  took  its  name  from  him.  He 
had  the  design  to  recover  more  land  by  building  a 
great  embankment  nearly  a  mile  long  across  the 
estuary  which  there  runs  in  from  the  coast.  This 
was  almost  finished  when  Shelley  came  there  in 
September,  1812,  but  there  were  engineering  diffi- 
culties over  the  last  piece,  and  Mr.  Madock  was 
running  short  of  money.  Shelley  took  his  house, 
Tanyrallt,  which  was  beautifully  placed  above 
the  valley.  "The  rent,"  he  said,  "is  large; 
but  it  is  an  object  with  us  that  they  allow  it  to 
remain  unpaid  till  I  am  of  age."     The  embank- 

72 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

ment,  as  a  piece  of  scientific  philanthropy,  roused 
him  to  enthusiasm.  He  tried  to  raise  money  in  the 
neighbourhood,  promised  £100  himself,  and  early 
in  October  went  with  his  three  companions  to 
London  mainly  with  the  object  of  raising  more 
money.  In  London  he  met  Godwin  for  the  first 
time,  and  saw  much  of  him.  It  is  not  known 
whether  he  also  saw  Godwin's  daughter,  Mary 
Wollstonecraft.  Hogg  was  now  in  London  and 
the  pupil  of  a  Special  Pleader  in  the  Middle  Temple. 
He  had  known  nothing  of  Shelley's  movements, 
and  it  was  a  complete  surprise  to  him  when  Shelley 
rushed  into  his  room  one  evening  early  in  Novem- 
ber. He  looked  "as  he  had  always  looked,  wild, 
intellectual,  unearthly ;  like  a  spirit  that  had 
just  descended  from  the  sky ;  like  a  demon  risen 
at  that  moment  out  of  the  ground."  The  next  day 
Hogg  went  to  see  them  all  at  their  hotel.  Shelley 
did  not  say  a  word  about  Ireland,  but  was  full  of 
the  Tremadoc  project.  He  had  no  success  with 
it.  "  In  Sussex,"  he  wrote  to  Madock's  agent,  "  I 
meet  with  no  encouragement.  They  are  a  parcel 
of  cold,  selfish,  calculating  animals,  who  seem  to 
have  no  other  aim  or  business  on  earth  but  to  eat, 
drink  and  sleep  ;  but  in  the  meanwhile  my  fervid 
hopes,  my  ardent  desires,  my  unremitting  personal 
exertions  (so  far  as  my  health  will  allow)  are  all 
engaged  in  that  cause,  which  I  will  desert  but 
with  my  life."  One  cannot  see  why  the  Sussex 
people  should  have  spent  money  on  this  Welsh 
embankment ;  but  whatever  interested  Shelley  at 

73 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  moment  seemed  to  him  the  most  important 
matter  in  the  world.  He  had  already  lost  his 
enthusiasm  for  Miss  Hitchener.  Hogg's  account 
of  the  matter  is  that  "  at  first  she  possessed  some 
influence  over  the  young  couple,  but  the  charming 
Eliza  would  not  tolerate  any  influence  but  her 
own.  She  had  worked  upon  Harriet's  feelings, 
and  the  good  Harriet  had  succeeded  in  making 
his  former  favourite  odious  to  Bysshe."  No  doubt 
also  the  angel  of  the  letters  ceased  to  appear  an 
angel  in  the  house.  It  would  have  been  impossible 
for  her,  whatever  her  virtues,  to  live  up  to  Shelley's 
opinion  of  her.  We  know  no  harm  of  Miss 
Hitchener.  Hogg  says  that  she  had  a  prim,  formal, 
didactic  manner  and  speech.  No  doubt  Shelley  in 
four  months  of  close  intercourse  found  her  a  bore  ; 
and  a  bore  very  soon  became  a  fiend  incarnate  to 
him.  We  do  not  know  all  the  stages  of  the  affair, 
but  it  was  determined  in  London  that  Miss  Hitchener 
should  go.  Hogg  tells  us  that  he  went  to  see 
them  one  Sunday  morning,  and  that  Miss  Hitchener 
was  to  go  that  evening.  Shelley  was  engaged. 
Harriet  had  a  headache  ;  so  Hogg  was  condemned 
to  take  the  two  spinsters  out  for  a  walk.  He  went 
into  St.  James's  Park  with  a  lady  on  each  arm. 
They  quarrelled  with  each  other  across  him. 
"  The  lovely  Eliza  attacked  the  foe  with  haughty 
contempt  ;  the  bearded  preceptress  defended  her- 
self and  offended  her  enemy  with  meek  contumacy. 
But  after  a  while  the  quarrel  ceased  and  Miss 
Hitchener   talked   to   Hogg   about   the   rights  of 

74 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

woman.    This  was  a  favourite  subject  with  her 
and  she  wrote  a  poem  on  it  beginning — 

"  All,  all  are  men — women  and  all !  " 

which  Shelley  would  recite  years  afterwards  and 
which  even  he  found  amusing. 

They  returned  to  the  house  and  the  day  passed 
tranquilly.  At  tea  Hogg  turned  the  conversation 
again  to  the  rights  of  woman.  "  The  Goddess 
of  Reason  began  incontinently  to  lecture  with 
fluency  and  animation.  Presently  Bysshe  quitted 
his  chair  and  came  and  stood  before  her,  listening 
with  attention,  and  looking  enthusiastic,  as  if 
his  former  interest  had  in  some  measure  revived. 
The  sisters  eyed  him  with  manifest  displeasure,  as 
a  person  holding  treasonable  communication  with  a 
public  enemy."  She  took  her  leave,  Hogg  says, 
' '  freely,  quietly,  and  civilly."  In  December  Shelley 
wrote  of  her  to  Hogg  in  these  terms  : — 

"  The  Brown  Demon,  as  we  call  our  late  tor- 
mentor and  schoolmistress,  must  receive  her  stipend. 
I  pay  it  with  a  heavy  heart  and  an  unwilling  hand  ; 
but  it  must  be  so.  She  was  deprived,  by  our 
misjudging  haste,  of  a  situation  where  she  was 
going  on  smoothly  :  and  now  she  says  that  her 
reputation  is  gone,  her  health  ruined,  her  peace 
of  mind  destroyed  by  my  barbarity  ;  a  complete 
victim  to  all  the  woes  mental  and  bodily  that 
heroine  ever  suffered.  This  is  not  all  fact,  but 
certainly  she  is  embarrassed  and  poor,  and  we 
being  in  some  degree  the  cause,  we  ought  to  obviate 

75 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

it.  She  is  an  artful,  superficial,  ugly,  herma- 
phroditical  beast  of  a  woman,  and  my  astonish- 
ment at  my  fatuity,  inconsistency,  and  bad  taste 
was  never  so  great  as  after  living  four  months 
with  her  as  an  inmate.  What  would  Hell  be  were 
such  a  woman  in  Heaven  ?  " 

Thus  it  appears  that  Shelley  was  just  to  her  in 
action  but  not  in  thought.  He  saw  that  he  had 
been  a  fool  for  thinking  her  an  angel,  but  not  that 
his  disgust  for  her  was  a  mere  reaction  from  his 
former  raptures.  In  that  disgust  he  indulged 
himself  without  restraint  according  to  his  habit. 
And  he  was  as  ready  to  imagine  her  a  melodramatic 
villain  as  if  she  had  been  his  father.  "She  is  a 
woman  of  desperate  views  and  dreadful  passions," 
he  said,  "  but  of  cool  and  undeviating  revenge." 
She  was,  of  course,  nothing  of  the  kind.  She  seems 
to  have  remembered  Shelley  with  kindness.  She 
became  a  schoolmistress  again  and  found  success 
in  the  calling  which  she  ought  never  to  have  left. 

Shelley  returned  to  Wales  on  November  13. 
There  was  much  distress  at  Tremadoc  that  winter 
and  he  was  active  among  the  poor,  "  visiting  them 
in  their  humble  abodes  and  supplying  them  with 
food,  raiment,  and  fuel."  But  he  was  growing 
tired  of  Wales.  "It  is  the  last  stronghold,"  he 
wrote,  "of  the  most  vulgar  and  commonplace 
prejudices  of  aristocracy.  Lawyers  of  unexampled 
villainy  rule  and  grind  the  poor,  whilst  they  cheat 
the  rich.  .  .  .  The  poor  are  as  abject  as  slaves, 
and   the   rich   as   tyrannical   as  bashaws."    The 

76 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

embankment  business  began  to  irk  him.  "  I 
have  been  teased  to  death  for  the  last  fortnight," 
he  wrote  to  Hogg.  "...  I  allude  to  the  embank- 
ment affairs,  in  which  1  thoughtlessly  engaged ; 
for  when  I  come  home  to  Harriet  I  am  the  happiest 
of  the  happy."     In  the  same  letter  he  says  that 

'  Queen  Mab  "  has  gone  on  but  slowly,  but  i? 
nearly  finished.  "  They  have  teased  me  out  of  all 
poetry."  He  was  not  anxious  now  for  a  recon 
ciliation  with  his  family.  "  I  question  if  intimacy 
with  my  relations  would  add  at  all  to  our  tran- 
quillity. They  would  be  plotting  and  playing 
the  devil,  or  showing  us  to  some  people  who 
would  do  so  ;  or  they  would  be  dull ;  or  they 
would  take  stupid  likes  or  dislikes  ;  and  they 
certainly  might  cramp  our  liberty  of  movement.' ' 
He  was  very  indignant  at  the  sentence  passed 
upon  Leigh  Hunt  for  his  famous  libel  upon  the 
Prince  Regent.     "He  wrote  to  me,"  says  Hunt, 

'making  me  a  princely  offer."  But  Hunt  would 
take  no  money  from  his  friends  and  sympathizers. 
Shelley  discussed  politics  in  his  letters  to  Hogg. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  say  that  my  Republicanism 
is  proud  ;  it  certainly  is  far  removed  from  pot-house 
democracy,  and  knows  with  what  a  smile  to  hear 
the  servile  applauses  of  an  inconsistent  mob. 
But  though  its  cheeks  could  feel  without  a  blush 
the  hand  of  insult  strike,  its  soul  would  shrink 
neither  from  the  scaffold  nor  the  stake,  nor  from 
those  deeds  and  habits  which  are  obnoxious  to 
slaves  in  power."     His  love  of  mankind  in  the 

77 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

abstract  caused  him  to  dislike  most  individual 
men  because  they  did  not  love  each  other. 

Shelley  left  Tremadoc  because  of  an  outrage 
as  doubtful  and  mysterious  as  that  which  befell 
him  at  Keswick.  Harriet's  story  is  that  on  the 
night  of  February  26,  when  they  had  been  in  bed 
about  half  an  hour,  Shelley  heard  a  noise  below. 
He  went  downstairs  with  two  pistols,  which  he 
had  loaded  that  night  expecting  to  have  occasion  for 
them.  He  heard  footsteps  and  followed  them  from 
one  room,  to  another.  Then  a  man  fired  at  him 
but  missed.  Shelley  fired  in  reply,  but  there  was 
only  a  flash  in  the  pan.  The  man  then  knocked 
Shelley  down.  In  the  struggle  Shelley  fired  his 
second  pistol  which,  he  thought,  wounded  the 
man  in  the  shoulder,  for  he  uttered  a  shriek  and 
cried,  "  By  God,  I  will  be  revenged.  I  will  mur- 
der your  wife  and  will  ravish  your  sister."  He 
then  fled.  The  household  assembled  in  the 
parlour,  where  they  waited  for  two  hours.  They 
then  returned  to  bed,  all  except  Shelley  and 
his  Irish  man-servant,  who  stayed  up.  Three 
hours  later  Harriet  heard  another  report.  She 
ran  downstairs  and  saw  that  Shelley's  flannel 
gown  and  the  window-curtain  had  been  shot 
through.  Shelley  had  sent  the  servant  to  see  what 
o'clock  it  was.  While  he  was  alone  a  man  thrust 
his  arm  through  the  glass  of  the  window  and  fired 
at  him.  Shelley's  pistol  again  failed  to  go  off.  He 
then  struck  at  the  man  with  an  old  sword  which 
he  found  in  the  house.    The  man  tried  to  get  the 

7» 


SHELLEY'S  FIRST   MARRIAGE 

sword  from  him  ;  but  fled  as  the  servant  returned, 
and  nothing  more  was  seen  or  heard  of  him. 

There  has  been  some  controversy  as  to  whether 
Shelley  imagined  the  whole  attack.  A  man, 
Harriet  says,  in  the  neighbourhood,  told  the 
tradespeople  "  that  it  was  a  tale  of  Shelley's  to 
impose  upon  them,  that  he  might  leave  the  country 
without  paying  his  bills.  This  they  believed,  and 
none  of  them  attempted  to  do  anything  towards 
his  discovery."  But  there  is  no  doubt  that 
Shelley  himself  was  in  a  distracted  state  the 
next  morning.  He  thought  he  saw  a  man's 
face  in  the  drawing-room  window  and  shot  the 
glass  to  shivers.  He  thought  he  saw  a  ghost  or 
devil  leaning  against  a  tree  and  made  a  sketch  of 
it.  Then  he  set  fire  to  a  wood  to  burn  the 
apparition.  Poor  Miss  Hitchener  has  been  sus- 
pected of  the  outrage  and  also  the  Irish  servant ; 
Dut  the  last  suspicion  seems  as  groundless  as  the 
first.  The  fact  that  Shelley  went  to  bed  with 
loaded  pistols  shows  that  he  expected  some  kind 
of  attack,  and  Harriet  gives  no  reason  for  his 
expectation.  He  was  therefore  in  a  state  of  appre- 
hension, and  it  took  very  little  to  make  him 
imagine  a  great  deal.  The  result  of  the  affair 
was  a  flight  to  Ireland  the  next  day.  Why  they 
went  there  we  do  not  know.  They  reached  Dublin 
on  March  9,  but  did  not  stay  there  long.  Poor 
Hogg  had  been  asked  to  stay  with  them  in  Wales, 
now  he  was  asked  to  go  to  Dublin.  He  did  so,  and 
found  them  flown  to  Killarney.     Shelley  heard  of 

79 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

his  arrival  and  flew  back  to  Dublin,  but  before  he 
got  there  Hogg  had  returned  to  London.  Shelley 
determined  to  follow  him,  and  he  and  Harriet 
reached  London  early  in  April,  1813.  They  had 
left  Eliza  at  Killarney  in  charge  of  Shelley's 
library,  and  Hogg  tells  us  that  he  "  was  evidently 
weary  of  angelic  guardianship,  and  exulted  with 
malicious  pleasure  that  he  had  firmly  planted  her 
at  last.  He  made  no  secret  of  his  satisfaction, 
but  often  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  with  his  accus- 
tomed frankness  and  energy.  The  good  Harriet 
smiled  in  silence  and  looked  very  sly." 

They  were  still  quite  happy  together  and  Harriet 
was  now  with  child.  Soon  Eliza  returned.  Hogg 
was  uncertain  whether  she  lived  constantly  with 
them.  '•  It  seemed  rather  that  she  went  and  came 
in  a  hushed,  mystical  manner."  Harriet  was  in 
good  health  and  spirits,  but  Eliza  deplored  the 
state  of  her  nerves.  They  stayed  at  an  hotel  in 
Albemarle  Street,  and  afterwards  in  lodgings. 

Shelley  had  made  friends  with  a  vegetarian 
family  named  Newton,  and  through  them  with 
Mrs.  Newton's  sister,  a  Mrs.  Boinville,  the  widow 
of  a  French  emigre.  Mrs.  Boinville,  he  said 
years  afterwards,  seemed  to  him  the  most  admir- 
able specimen  of  a  human  being  he  had  ever  seen. 
He  soon  had  a  rapturous  friendship  with  her  and 
met  many  strange  people  at  her  home.  She 
and  the  Newtons  were  what  we  should  now  call 
"  cranks,"  and  Shelley  always  liked  cranks  at 
first,  though  he  tired  of  them  quickly.     But  they 

80 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST   MARRIAGE 

were  no  doubt  charming  cranks,  and  kind  to 
Shelley  with  a  sentimental,  motherly  kindness. 
Hogg  saw  much  of  Shelley  at  this  time  and  tells 
us  a  good  deal  of  his  ways  of  life.  How  he  would 
make  his  meals  in  the  street,  buying  a  loaf  and  a 
few  pudding  raisins  when  he  felt  hungry,  and 
eating  them  as  he  walked  along.  How  he  would 
make  little  bread  pellets  and  flick  them  at  people 
whom  he  met  on  his  walks,  hitting  them  usually 
on  the  nose.  How,  though  he  and  Harriet  were 
both  vegetarians,  they  would  provide  a  bad  meat 
meal  for  Hogg  ;  for  Shelley,  if  asked  to  order 
dinner,  would  say,  "  Ask  Harriet,"  and  Harriet 
would  say,  "Whatever  you  please."  But  some- 
times there  was  no  meat  and  Harriet  would 
tell  Shelley  to  buy  a  shilling's  worth  of  penny 
buns.  He  would  then  rush  off  with  incredible 
alacrity  and  return  in  an  instant  stumbling  and 
tumbling  upstairs  with  the  bag  of  buns  open  at 
the  top  in  his  hand.  He  would  not  wear  a  great- 
coat in  the  coldest  weather  and  went  bareheaded 
as  much  as  possible.  Yet  he  was  very  fanciful 
about  his  health.  When  he  coughed  he  would 
declare  that  he  broke  blood-vessels  and  spat  blood  ; 
but  this  was  all  fancy.  Hogg's  story  of  his 
elephantiasis  illusion  might  be  dismissed  as  an  in- 
vention if  it  were  not  confirmed  by  other  evidence. 
Hogg  tells  us  that  once  in  a  crowded  stage-coach 
Shelley  sat  opposite  an  old  woman  with  very 
thick  legs.  He  took  it  into  his  head  that  she  had 
the  elephantiasis  and  that  he  had  caught  it  from 
6  81 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

her.  He  talked  to  his  female  friends  about  his 
symptoms  and  consulted  a  surgeon,  who  told 
him  that  he  had  not  got  it  and  could  not  have  it. 
But  he  would  not  be  convinced.  He  was  per- 
petually examining  his  skin  and  the  skin  of  others. 
Mrs.  Newton's  daughter  remembered  that  one 
day  as  he  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair  talking  to 
her  father  and  mother  he  suddenly  slipped  down 
to  the  ground  twisting  about  like  an  eel.  They 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter  and  he  replied 
in  an  impressive  tone,  "  I  have  the  elephantiasis." 
Thomas  Love  Peacock,  whom  Shelley  had  prob- 
ably first  met  in  Wales  the  year  before  and  who 
now  saw  a  good  deal  of  him,  says  that  he  was 
continually  on  the  watch  for  symptoms  of  the 
disease.  "  He  would  draw  the  skin  of  his  own 
hands,  arms,  and  neck  very  tight,  and  if  he  dis- 
covered any  deviation  from  smoothness  he  would 
seize  the  person  next  to  him  and  endeavour  by  a 
corresponding  pressure  to  see  if  any  corresponding 
deviation  existed.  He  often  startled  young  ladies 
at  an  evening  party  by  this  singular  process, 
which  was  as  instantaneous  as  a  flash  of  lightning." 
Hogg  tells  us  that  he  was  always  a  great  favourite 
with  ladies.  They  found  his  conversation  enchant- 
ing, and  he  would  keep  them  up  to  all  hours  with 
it,  for  he  took  no  note  of  time.  It  was  always  dim- 
cult  to  catch  him,  and  when  he  was  caught 
and  "  turned  over  to  the  ladies  with,  Behold  your 
king  !  to  be  caressed,  courted,  admired  and  flat- 
tered, the  King  of  beauty  and  fancy  would  too 

82 


SHELLEY'S   FIRST  MARRIAGE 

commonly  bolt.  .  .  .  Unobserved  and  almost 
magically  he  vanished."  He  reminded  Hogg  of 
the  goat  which  is  said  to  vanish  for  one  hour  of 
the  twenty-four  and  to  spend  it  in  the  Shades. 
Hogg  told  him  this  legend,  and  it  pleased  him  so 
much  that  when  he  met  a  goat  he  would  ask  it 
with  penetrating  glances,  "  What  news  from 
Hades?" 

A  lady  once  remarked  to  Hogg  that  Shelley  would 
make  terrible  havoc  if  he  were  at  all  rakish.  He 
never  was  rakish,  but  he  made  havoc  for  all  that, 
through  not  knowing  himself  and  the  nature  of 
his  own  passions.  But  at  this  time  he  was  still  as 
innocent  in  act  as  in  mind  and  no  one  had  any 
reason  to  suspect  him. 

In  June,  1813,  Harriet  was  delivered  of  a  healthy 
girl,  who  was  named  Ianthe,  like  the  heroine  of 
"  Queen  Mab."  In  July  they  went  to  Bracknell 
in  Berkshire  to  be  near  Mrs.  Boinville  ;  and  there 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  vegetarians.  In  Septem- 
ber Shelley  wrote  a  sonnet  to  Ianthe  in  which 
he  spoke  tenderly  of  Harriet,  and  they  were  still 
happy  together.  After  some  wanderings  they 
returned  to  London  in  December.  In  the  first 
months  of  1814  Shelley  was  often  staying  at 
Bracknell  with  Mrs.  Boinville  and  reading  Italian 
poetry  with  her  and  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Turner. 
Some  doubt  seems  to  have  been  raised  about  the 
validity  of  Shelley's  Scotch  marriage  during 
his  minority.  So  on  March  24  he  and  Harriet 
were  married  again  in  London. 

83 


CHAPTER     IV 
" QUEEN  MAB  " 

SHELLEY  probably  began  "Queen  Mab " 
at  Lynmouth  in  1812,  though  fragments  of 
verse  written  before  that  time  are  said  to  be  con- 
tained in  it.  It  was  sent  to  the  printers  in  the 
spring  of  1813.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  copies  of 
it  were  printed  and  about  seventy  of  these  were 
privately  distributed  in  the  summer.  It  was 
never  published  in  the  ordinary  way.  Shelley 
revised  parts  of  it  and  the  first  two  sections  thus 
revised  were  published  in  1816,  with  "  Alastor," 
under  the  title  of  the  "  Daemon  of  the  World." 
No  more  of  this  revised  version  was  published 
until  1876. 

"  Queen  Mab  "  is  the  first  of  Shelley's  works 
which  shows  any  promise  of  his  future  greatness. 
The  musical  opening  is  the  best-known  part  of  it, 
and  this  has  given  it  more  reputation  than  it 
deserves.  The  whole  poem  is  not  worth  reading 
for  its  own  sake  ;  but  it  should  be  read  by  those 
who  wish  to  understand  the  nature  and  growth 
of  Shelley's  mind.  I  shall  treat  it  rather  as  a 
document  than  as  a  work  of  art. 

While    writing    "  Queen    Mab '     Shelley   said : 

84 


"QUEEN  MAB" 

"The  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future  are  the 
grand  and  comprehensive  topics  of  the  poem." 
The  subject  of  "  Queen  Mab  "  is  really  the  same 
as  the  subject  of  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  :  the 
past  and  present  misery  of  mankind  and  their 
future  regeneration.  The  motto  of  "  Queen  Mab  " 
is  Ecrasez  V infante,  and  in  Religion  is  the  source 
of  all  evil,  like  Jupiter  in  ' '  Prometheus. ' '  Religion 
is  to  be  superseded  by  the  spirit  ot  Nature,  as 
Jupiter  by  Demogorgon  in  the  later  poem  ;  while 
the  Prometheus  of  "  Queen  Mab  "  is  Ahasuerus, 
the  Wandering  Jew,  about  whom  Shelley  had 
already  written  both  in  verse  and  prose,  and  who 
is  introduced,  perhaps,  so  that  he  may  deliver 
some  of  these  earlier  verses. 

Shelley's  main  ideas  and  emotions  changed 
but  little  in  the  course  of  his  life.  Growth  and 
experience  only  gave  him  a  greater  power  of 
expressing  them.  From  first  to  last  his  mind  was 
filled  with  a  fierce  impatience  of  our  present 
imperfection  and  a  vast  desire  and  hope  for  a 
perfection  to  be.  He  always  conceived  of  our 
imperfection,  not  as  a  process  of  growth,  but  as 
something  imposed  upon  us  by  a  malignant 
external  power,  upon  the  fall  of  which  we  should 
all  at  once  become  perfect. 

In  "  Prometheus "  he  dramatized  his  ideas 
of  evil  and  good  and  made  shadowy  persons  of 
them.  In  "  Queen  Mab  "  they  are  still  mere  ab- 
stractions, quite  inadequate,  of  course,  to  account 
for  themselves  and  narrow  with  the  narrowness 

85 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  a  merely  destructive  philosophy.  Even  Shelley, 
if  he  had  lived  in  another  age,  would  scarcely 
have  tried  to  make  a  poem  out  of  material  so 
vast  and  vague  ;  but  he  began  to  write  at  a  time 
when  the  Romantic  Revolution  in  poetry  had 
destroyed  all  the  literary  traditions  and  conven- 
tions of  the  eighteenth  century,  while  he  himself 
was  still  content  with  its  abstractions.  He  took 
all  the  romantic  liberties,  but  had  not  got  the 
romantic  love  of  concrete  things.  There  was 
nothing  but  his  own  inclination  to  suggest  either 
a  particular  subject  or  a  particular  treatment  to 
him,  and  by  nature  he  was  inclined  to  the  extreme 
of  vagueness  in  both.  He  had  two  main  desires, 
one  of  the  senses,  the  other  of  the  soul ;  and  the 
one  so  instantly  suggested  the  other  that  he  could 
not  distinguish  between  them.  To  him  a  beautiful 
woman  was  the  symbol  of  them  illennium,  and  the 
millennium  meant  the  society  of  beautiful  women. 
Thus  "  Queen  Mab  "  begins  with  a  description 
of  Ianthe,  a  beautiful  girl,  asleep  and  watched  over 
by  her  lover.1  While  she  sleeps  the  Fairy  Queen, 
Mab,  appears  to  her  in  a  chariot : — 

"Celestial  coursers  paw  the  unyielding  air; 
Their  filmy  pennons  at  her  word  they  furl, 
And  stop  obedient  to  the  reins  of  light." 

1  His  name  is  Henry,  but  we  are  not  told  this  until 
Ianthe  wakes  up  in  the  last  lines  of  the  poem.  In  the 
"  Daemon  of  the  World  "  Shelley  names  him  at  the  begin- 
ning, thinking,  no  doubt,  that  we  are  not  likely  to  be 
interested  in  his  name  just  when  we  have  done  with  him 
and  Ianthe. 

86 


"QUEEN  MAB" 

Queen  Mab  descends  from  the  chariot  and 
addresses  Ianthe  : — 

..."  Soul  of  Ianthe,  thou 
Judged  alone  worthy  of  the  envied  boon, 
That  waits  the  good  and  the  sincere  ;    that  waits 
Those  who  have  struggled,  and  with  resolute  will 
Vanquished  Earth's  pride  and  meanness,  burst  the  chains, 
The  icy  chains  of  custom,  and  have  shone 
The  day-stars  of  their  age  ;    Soul  of  Ianthe  ! 

Awake  !    Arise  !  " 

We  are  given  no  particulars  of  Ianthe 's  heroic 
conduct,  but  have  to  take  all  her  virtues  on  trust 
as  Shelley  himself  took  the  virtues  of  so  many 
ladies  who  charmed  him  in  the  course  of  his  life 
and  who  were,  for  a  time,  symbols  to  him  of  all 
virtue  and  wisdom  and  delight.  The  soul  of 
Ianthe  quits  her  body  and  travels  away  with  Mab 
in  the  magic  car.  There  are  descriptions  of  the 
journey  too  vague  to  make  much  mark  upon  the 
mind,  but,  like  the  vapours  of  an  incantation, 
promising  clearer  shapes  of  beauty  in  the  future. 
They  come  to  the  ruins  of  Palmyra  and  to  Jeru- 
salem, which  gives  Mab  an  opportunity  for  a 
speech  against  the  religion  of  the  Jews.  On  other 
pretexts  she  talks  against  kings,  against  war,  and 
against  commerce.  She  has  grown  serious  since 
Mercutio  knew  her,  and  prefers  sermons  to  practical 
jokes.  She  gives  a  dismal  account  of  the  world 
as  it  is ;  and  Ianthe  asks  whether  there  is  any 
hope  for  it.  Mab  replies  that  there  is.  At  present 
falsehood  triumphs  in  religion.  Religion  is  the 
cause  of   all   this   evil   and  must  be  superseded 

87 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

by  the  Spirit  of  Nature,  "  all-sufficing  power." 
"  There  is  no  God  !  "  she  cries  triumphantly,  and 
summons  up  the  spirit  of  Ahasuerus,  the  Wander- 
ing Jew,  who  contradicts  her,  painting  a  horrid 
picture  of  Jehovah  and  giving  a  new  and  heroic 
account  of  his  own  offence. 

Ianthe  is  now  to  see  the  beautiful  future,  and 
this  is  the  best  part  of  the  poem.  We  are  not 
told,  of  course,  how  it  is  to  come  about,  except 
that  Religion  is  to  fall  before  the  Spirit  of  Nature 
as  Jupiter  falls  before  Demogorgon  in  "  Prome- 
theus." The  result  in  both  cases  is  a  universal 
harmony.  Not  only  man  but  all  nature  becomes 
kind  and  good.  No  tempest  vexs  the  sea.  The 
deserts  change  to  woods  and  cornfields ;  and 
where  tigers  once  ate  lambs,  the  daisy-spangled 
lawn  smiles  : — 

"  To  see  a  babe  before  his  mother's  door, 
Sharing  his  morning  meal 
With  the  green  and  golden  basilisk 
That  comes  to  lick  his  feet." 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  passages  in  English 
poetry  is  that  in  "  Prometheus  "  which  describes 
two  halcyons,  after  the  regeneration,  feeding  upon 
nightshade  berries  without  harm.  In  "  Queen 
Mab,"  too,  we  are  told  that — 

"  Like  passion's  fruit,  the  nightshade's  tempting  bane 
Poisons  no  more  the  pleasure  it  bestows." 

But  what  a  difference  there  is  between  the  dull 
and  moralizing  statement  of  the  first  poem  and 
the  vivid  incidents  of  the  second. 

88 


"  QUEEN   MAB " 

The  best  lines  in  "  Queen  Mab  "  are  those  in 
which  Shelley  tells  us  how  passion  and  reason 
are  at  one  : — 

"  Reason  was  free  ;    and  wild  though  Passion  went 
Through  tangled  glens  and  wood-embosomed  meads, 
Gathering  a  garland  of  the  strangest  flowers, 
Yet  like  the  bee  returning  to  her  queen, 
She  bound  the  sweetest  on  her  sister's  brow, 
Who  meek  and  sober  kissed  the  sportive  child, 
No  longer  trembling  at  the  broken  rod." 

At  the  end  of  the  poem,  and  after  an  eloquent 
passage  proclaiming  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
Queen  Mab  takes  Ianthe  back  to  her  lover.  Her 
soul  and  body  were  united  : — 

"  She  looked  around  in  wonder,  and  beheld 
Henry,  who  kneeled  in  silence  by  her  couch, 
Watching  her  sleep  with  looks  of  speechless  love, 
And  the  bright  beaming  stars 
That  through  the  casement  shone." 

"  Queen  Mab  "  is  written  partly  in  blank  verse, 
partly  in  that  irregular  rhymeless  verse  which 
Shelley  got  from  Southey.  In  the  versification 
there  is  a  great  advance  upon  all  his  former  poetry 
and  sometimes  more  than  a  promise  of  his  future 
music.  He  had  freed  himself  of  his  rocking- 
horse  rhythms,  and  seldom  relapsed  into  them 
afterwards. 

At  this  period  he  had  not  learnt  to  combine 
reason  with  passion  in  his  art  any  more  than  in 
his  life.  He  knew  this  himself  and  therefore 
added  a  prose  commentary  of  notes  to  his  poem. 
Some  of    these  are    mere  rhetoric.     Others  are 

89 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

closely  reasoned  and  prove  that  he  had  already  a 
trained  and  masculine  intellect.  There  is  some 
rhetoric  in  the  note  on  wealth  ;  but  it  exposes 
very  clearly  the  still  persisting  fallacy  that  luxury 
is  "good  for  trade,"  and  points  out  that  money 
is  a  good  only  when  distributed  with  some  approach 
to  equality,  and  a  cause  of  impoverishment  when 
collected  in  a  few  hands.  We  are  all  supposed 
to  know  this  now  ;  and  it  was  not  a  new  discovery 
even  in  Shelley's  time,  but  now,  as  then,  most 
prosperous  people  are  content  to  ignore  it.  Shelley 
saw  what  danger  there  was  in  the  accumulation 
of  money,  saw  that  it  was  the  chief  danger  that 
threatened  his  country  ;  and  in  this  he  was  more 
sagacious  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  than  many 
statesmen  of  experience. 


90 


CHAPTER     V 

THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

f"  "^HERE  has  been  much  controversy  about 
*  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  Shelley's  estrange- 
ment from  Harriet  and  flight  with  Mary  Godwin. 
I  shall  deal  with  the  disputed  points  only  so  far 
as  they  seem  to  me  to  concern  Shelley's  character. 
We  do  not  know  enough  to  come  to  very  certain 
conclusions  about  the  matter,  and  opposite  con- 
clusions have  been  based  upon  the  facts  we  do 
know. 

Since  Shelley  married  Harriet  again  in  March, 
1814,  he  cannot  then  have  designed  to  separate 
from  her.  Yet  only  a  week  before  he  had  written 
a  letter  to  Hogg  which  proves  that  he  was  no 
longer  happy  with  her.  "  I  have  been  staying 
with  Mrs.  B(oinville)  for  the  last  month.  I  have 
escaped,  in  the  society  of  all  that  philosophy  and 
friendship  combine,  from  the  dismaying  solitude 
of  myself.  .  .  .  My  heart  sinks  at  the  view  of 
that  necessity,  which  will  quickly  divide  me  from 
the  delightful  tranquillity  of  this  happy  home — 
for  it  has  become  my  home.  ...  I  have  sunk 
into  a  premature  old  age  of  exhaustion,  which 

9i 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

renders  me  dead  to  everything  but  the  unenviable 
capacity  of  indulging  the  vanity  of  hope,  and  a 
terrible  susceptibility  to  objects  of  disgust  and 
hatred. 

"  Eliza  is  still  with  us — not  here  ! — but  will  be 
with  me  when  the  infinite  malice  of  destiny  forces 
me  to  depart.  I  am  now  but  little  inclined  to 
contest  this  point.  I  certainly  hate  her  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul.  It  is  a  sight  which  awakens 
an  inexpressible  sensation  of  disgust  and  horror, 
to  see  her  caress  my  poor  little  Ianthe,  in  whom  I 
may  hereafter  find  the  consolation  of  sympathy. 
I  sometimes  feel  faint  with  the  fatigue  of  checking 
the  overflow  of  my  unbounded  abhorrence  for 
this  miserable  wretch.  But  she  is  no  more  than 
a  blind  and  loathsome  worm  that  cannot  see  to 
sting." 

Then  he  quotes  a  stanza  he  has  written,  which, 
he  says,  has  no  meaning  : — 

"  Thy  dewy  looks  sink  in  my  breast ; 
Thy  gentle  words  stir  poison  there ; 
Thou  hast  disturbed  the  only  rest 
That  was  the  portion  of  despair  ! 
Subdued  to  Duty's  hard  control, 
I  could  have  borne  my  wayward  lot : 
The  chains  that  bind  this  ruined  soul 
Had  cankered  then,  but  crushed  it  not." 

Soon  afterwards,  moved  by  the  same  trouble,  the 
first  real  and  bitter  trouble  he  had  ever  known, 
he  wrote  the  first  of  his  poems  in  which  his  genius 
was  clear : — 

92 


THE  BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

"  Away  !    the  moor  is  dark  beneath  the  moon, 

Rapid  clouds  have  drunk  the  last  pale  beam  of  even  : 
Away  !   the  gathering  winds  will  call  the  darkness  soon, 
And  profoundest  midnight  shroud  the  serene  lights 
of  Heaven. 
Pause    not !     the    time    is    past !     Every    voice    cries, 
'  Away  !  ' 
Tempt  not  with  one  last  tear  thy  friend's  ungentle 
mood  : 
Thy  lover's  eye,  so  glazed  and  cold,  dares  not  entreat 
thy  stay  : 
Duty  and  dereliction  guide  thee  back  to  solitude. 

Away,  away  !    to  thy  sad  and  silent  home  ; 
Pour  bitter  tears  on  its  desolated  hearth  ; 
Watch  the  dim  shades  as  like  ghosts  they  go  and  come, 
And  complicate  strange  webs  of  melancholy  mirth. 
The  leaves  of  wasted  autumn  woods  shall  float  around 
thine  head, 
The  blooms  of  dewy  spring  shall  gleam  beneath  thy 
feet : 
But  thy  soul  or  this  world  must  fade  in  the  frost  that 
binds  the  dead, 
Ere  midnight's  frown  and  morning's  smile,  ere  thou 
and  peace,  may  meet. 

The  cloud  shadows  of  midnight  possess  their  own  repose, 
For  the  weary  winds  are  silent,  or  the  moon  is  in  the 
deep  ; 
Some  respite  to  its  turbulence  unresting  ocean  knows  : 
Whatever  moves  or  toils  or  grieves  hath  its  appointed 
sleep. 
Thou  in  the  grave  shalt  rest : — Yet,  till  the  phantoms  flee 
Which  that  house  and  heath  and  garden  made  dear  to 
thee  e'erwhile, 
Thy  remembrance  and  repentance  and  deep  musings  are 
not  free 
From  the  music  of  two  voices  and  the  light  of  one 
sweet  smile." 

This  is  unlike  the  poetry  of  any  other  poet. 
Some  of  the  language  is  still  conventional  and 

93 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

sentimental  in  meaning  ;  but  the  music  trembles 
and  starts  and  rushes  with  misgiving  and  desire. 
It  expresses  the  conflict  in  Shelley's  mind,  the 
bewildered  ardour  of  youth  that  has  lost  its  old 
object  and  dare  not  fasten  on  a  new  one  ;  the 
impatient  hunger  for  a  delight  that  seems  to  be 
gone  from  life,  and  the  despairing  effort  to  accept 
life  without  it. 

In  May  he  wrote  a  poem  to  Harriet  in  which  he 
speaks  as  if  he  had  lost  her  love  and  only  wished 
to  regain  it : — 

"  Thy  look  of  love  has  power  to  calm 

The  stormiest  passion  of  my  soul ; 

Thy  gentle  words  are  drops  of  balm 

In  life's  too  bitter  bowl ; 
No  grief  is  mine,  but  that  alone 
These  choicest  blessings  I  have  known. 

Harriet !    if  all  who  long  to  live 
In  the  warm  sunshine  of  thine  eye, 

That  price  beyond  all  pain  must  give, — 
Beneath  thy  scorn  to  die  ; 

Then  hear  thy  chosen  own  too  late 

His  heart  most  worthy  of  thy  hate. 

Be  thou,  then,  one  among  mankind 
Whose  heart  is  harder  not  for  state, 

Thou  only  virtuous,  gentle,  kind, 
Amid  a  world  of  hate  ; 

And  by  a  slight  endurance  seal 

A  fellow-being's  lasting  weal. 

For  pale  with  anguish  is  his  cheek, 

His  breath  comes  fast,  his  eyes  are  dim  ; 

Thy  name  is  struggling  ere  he  speak, 
Weak  is  each  trembling  limb ; 

In  mercy  let  him  not  endure 

The  misery  of  a  fatal  cure. 

94 


THE  BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

Oh,  trust  for  once  no  erring  guide  ! 

Bid  the  remorseless  feeling  flee  ; 
'Tis  malice,  'tis  revenge,  'tis  pride, 

'Tis  anything  but  thee  ; 
Oh,  deign  a  nobler  pride  to  prove 
And  pity  if  thou  canst  not  love." 

This  poem  seems  to  have  more  artifice  than  the 
last,  but  it  may  be  taken  to  prove  that  Shelley  was 
still  loving  or  trying  to  love  his  wife,  while  fearing 
that  she  had  ceased  to  love  him.  There  are 
other  words  of  his  recorded  to  the  same  effect,  and 
we  may  take  it  that  the  fear  passed  into  a  belief. 
But  what  grounds  there  were  for  it,  or  what 
excuse,  or  by  what  means  or  stages  they  became 
estranged  from  each  other,  we  can  only  conjecture, 
and  that  from  slight  materials.  Harriet  did  not 
feed  her  child,  and  Peacock  says  :  "I  have  often 
thought  that  if  Harriet  had  nursed  her  own  child, 
and  if  the  sister  had  not  lived  with  them,  the  link 
of  their  married  life  would  not  have  been  so 
readily  broken."  Hogg  tells  us  that  Harriet  lost 
her  intellectual  interests  and  became  very  fond 
of  dress.  Professor  Dowden  suggests  that  mother- 
hood produced  a  natural  change  and  development 
in  her  character  which  dismayed  Shelley.  This  is 
likely  enough.  She  was  a  school-girl  when  she 
married  and  ready  to  be  as  much  like  a  Shelley  in 
petticoats  as  she  could.  But  when  she  became  a 
mother  she  became  a  woman  with  her  own  tastes 
and  thoughts  different  from  his,  and  with  a  desire 
to  live  her  own  life.  If  that  was  so,  Shelley  would 
find  that  his  wife  was  a  different  person  from  what 

95 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

he  had  supposed,  and  not  what  he  had  bargained 
for.  This  change  is  the  danger  of  all  very  early 
marriages ;  but  it  was  peculiarly  dangerous  in  this 
case,  because  Shelley  was  exacting  to  those  whom 
he  loved.  He  could  not  be  content  with  placid 
affection  from  his  wife.  She  must  feel  like  him 
and  think  like  him  ;  kindle  when  he  kindled,  and 
hate  when  he  hated.  It  is  likely  enough  that 
Harriet,  while  still  loving  him,  began  to  take  his 
ardours  for  granted  and  not  very  seriously ;  to 
betray  absence  of  mind  when  he  declaimed ;  to 
think  more  of  the  baby  and  her  own  clothes  than 
of  his  poetry.  Any  difficulty  between  them  must 
have  been  aggravated  by  the  presence  of  Eliza,  a 
woman  who  meant  well  perhaps,  but  who  had 
nothing  in  common  with  Shelley  and  was  deter- 
mined not  to  lose  her  power  over  Harriet.  Of 
course  Shelley  ought  to  have  got  rid  of  her  long 
before  ;  but  he  had  no  common- sense  in  such 
matters,  and  no  contrivance  in  getting  rid  of 
burdens  that  he  could  not  bear.  Eliza  stayed  on 
until  he  loathed  the  sight  of  her,  and  Harriet  had 
not  wit  enough  to  see  her  own  danger,  or  enter- 
prise enough  to  put  an  end  to  it.  She  and  Shelley 
were  just  the  couple  to  drift  on  without  ever 
speaking  plain  words  to  each  other  or  facing  the 
situation  together.  It  was  no  use  for  him  to  say 
what  he  felt  in  verse,  for  she  would  think  of  verse 
as  a  game  which  he  played  and  not  as  a  means  of 
telling  the  truth.  Harriet  was  not  a  poet,  and  we 
know  nothing  of  what  she  felt  during  the  process 

96 


THE  BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

of  estrangement ;  but  it  is  likely  that  she  suffered 
as  much  as  Shelley,  though  blindly  and  dumbly. 
In  April  Eliza  seems  to  have  left  them  ;  but 
matters  did  not  mend.  We  know  nothing  for 
certain  of  what  passed  between  them,  but  at  the 
beginning  of  July  Harriet  was  in  Bath,  and 
Shelley  in  London.  From  this  fact  it  has  been 
concluded  that  there  was  some  kind  of  formal 
separation  between  them.  It  seems  to  be  certain 
that  they  did  not  separate  by  mutual  consent, 
and  that  Harriet  was  opposed  to  a  separation ; 
indeed  a  letter  of  hers,  which  I  shall  quote,  goes 
to  prove  that  she  did  not  regard  their  separation 
as  either  final  or  formal. 

But  while  she  was  in  Bath  a  new  and  imminent 
danger  was  threatening  their  married  life. 

Shelley,  though  in  want  of  money  himself,  was 
trying  to  find  money  for  Godwin,  who  was  always 
in  straits.  Thus  he  often  went  to  see  Godwin  at 
his  house  in  Skinner  Street,  and  there  he  met  Mary, 
Godwin's  daughter  by  Mary  Wollstonecraft,  his 
first  wife.  Mary  Godwin  was  then  sixteen.  She 
was  less  beautiful  than  Harriet,  but  had  many 
charms,  and  an  understanding  far  beyond  Harriet's. 
Shelley  may  have  tried  not  to  fall  in  love  with  her, 
but  he  did  fall  in  love  with  her,  and  she  with  him, 
pitying  him  no  doubt  for  troubles  which  he  did 
not  hide  from  her.  It  seems  probable  that  he 
told  her  that  Harriet  had  been  unfaithful  to  him 
and  that  he  was  not  the  father  of  a  child  with 
which  she  was  then  pregnant.  Afterwards  he 
7  97 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

owned  himself  mistaken  about  the  child,  but  he 
persisted  in  his  belief  that  Harriet  had  been 
unfaithful.  The  only  authority  for  this  belief 
appears  to  be  a  statement  made  by  Godwin  in  a 
letter  after  her  death.  "The  late  Mrs.  Shelley," 
said  Godwin,  "turns  out  to  have  been  a  woman 
of  great  levity.  I  know  from  unquestionable 
authority,  wholly  unconnected  with  Shelley 
(though  I  cannot  with  propriety  be  quoted  for 
this),  that  she  had  proved  herself  unfaithful  to 
her  husband  before  their  separation."  This  does 
not  amount  to  much,  and  against  it  we  have  the 
expressed  conviction  of  Peacock  that  "  her  con- 
duct as  a  wife  was  as  pure,  as  true,  as  absolutely 
faultless  as  that  of  any  who  for  such  conduct  was 
held  most  in  honour."  We  have  also  the  state- 
ment of  Trelawny  that  he  was  "  assured  by  the 
evidence  of  the  few  friends  who  know  both  Shelley 
and  his  wife — Hookham,  who  kept  the  great  library 
in  Bond  Street,  Jefferson  Hogg,  Peacock,  and  one 
of  the  Godwins — that  Harriet  was  perfectly 
innocent  of  all  offence." 

Indeed  it  seems  to  be  doubtful  whether  Shelley 
himself  felt  any  certainty  of  Harriet's  guilt  before 
his  flight  with  Mary  ;  whether  it  was  more  than 
fancy  to  which  he  sometimes  gave  way. 

Peacock  tells  us  that  he  saw  Shelley  when  he  was 
full  of  his  new  passion  for  Mary,  and  that  then 
Shelley  said  to  him,  "  Every  one  who  knows  me 
must  know  that  the  partner  of  my  life  should  be  one 
who  can  feel  poetry  and  understand  philosophy. 

98 


THE   BREAK   WITH   HARRIET 

Harriet  is  a  noble  animal,  but  she  can  do  neither." 
Peacock  then  said,  "It  always  appeared  to  me 
that  you  were  very  fond  of  Harriet  "  ;  and  Shelley, 
without  affirming  or  denying  this,  answered,  "  But 
you  did  not  know  how  I  hated  her  sister."  Pro- 
fessor Dowden  remarks  that  "it  is  evident  that 
Shelley  did  not  confide  to  Peacock  the  complete 
story  of  his  alienation  from  Harriet."  But  it  is 
strange  that,  if  Shelley  had  so  strong  a  reason  for 
ceasing  to  love  Harriet,  he  should  give  another 
and  much  weaker  one.  It  seems  more  likely 
that  he  knew  Peacock  would  ridicule  his  fancy  of 
Harriet's  unfaithfulness  and  therefore  said  nothing 
of  it.  We  have  to  remember  that  he  was  always 
subject  to  delusions  both  about  persons  and 
places.  When  he  wished  to  leave  a  place  where 
he  had  sworn  to  live  for  ever,  he  would  find  there 
was  some  danger  to  his  life  there ;  and  so,  now 
that  he  was  drawn  away  from  Harriet,  he  may 
have  found  the  same  process  of  delusion  that  she 
was  unfaithful  to  him.  I  do  not  suggest  that  he 
consciously  invented  the  theory  of  her  unfaith- 
fulness to  suit  his  own  purposes ;  but  his  mind 
offered  no  resistance  to  fancies  when  they  swarmed 
in  to  encourage  his  prejudices  or  desires.  He  had 
fancies  against  his  father  and  against  Miss 
Hitchener ;  and  now  that  he  had  fallen  in  love 
with  Mary,  it  was  likely  enough  that  he  should 
have  fancies  against  Harriet,  which  at  one  moment 
he  thought  to  be  true  and  at  another  knew  to  be 
false.     If  he  had  been  convinced  of  her  unfaith- 

99 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

fulness  he  would  surely  have  ceased  all  friendship 
with  her,  strange  as  his  ideas  were  about  sexual 
relations.  But  so  far  from  breaking  with  her  he 
wrote  to  her  frequently,  as  the  following  letter 
from  Harriet  to  Hookham,  Shelley's  publisher, 
proves.     It  is  dated  July  7,  1814 : — 

"  You  will  greatly  oblige  me  by  giving  the 
enclosed  to  Mr.  Shelley.  I  would  not  trouble  you, 
but  it  is  now  four  days  since  I  have  heard  from 
him,  which  to  me  is  an  age.  Will  you  write  by 
return  of  post,  and  tell  me  what  has  become  of 
him,  as  I  always  fancy  something  dreadful  has 
happened  if  I  do  not  hear  from  him.  If  you  tell 
me  that  he  is  well  I  shall  not  come  to  London ; 
but  if  I  do  not  hear  from  you  or  him  I  shall 
certainly  come,  as  I  cannot  endure  this  dreadful 
state  of  suspense." 

This  is  not  the  letter  of  a  woman  who  has  ceased 
to  love  her  husband  or  who  is  formally  separated 
from  him.  It  reads  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  his 
infidelity,  not  conscious  of  her  own. 

Shelley  by  now  was  deep  in  love  with  Mary  and 
she  with  him.  She  is  not  to  be  blamed,  I  think, 
for  allowing  herself  to  fall  in  love  with  a  married 
man.  Her  father  and  her  mother  had  lived 
together  before  they  married,  and  Shelley  could 
quote  Godwin  as  an  authority  for  his  own  ideas 
about  the  marriage  tie.  If  Shelley  told  her  that 
his  wife  had  been  unfaithful  to  him,  she  would 

100 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

consider,  no  doubt,  that  he  was  free  to  love 
and  be  loved  by  another  woman.  And  then 
Shelley  was  the  disciple  and  would-be  benefactor 
of  her  father.  He  was  the  most  wonderful  youth 
in  England  and  seemed  the  most  unfortunate, 
speaking  like  an  angel  exiled  from  his  native 
heaven.  We  do  not  know  much  of  the  progress 
of  their  passion,  but  Hogg  tells  us  how  he  first 
saw  them  meet.  He  and  Shelley  called  on  God- 
win on  June  8.  They  found  that  Godwin  was 
out,  and  Shelley  began  to  walk  impatiently  about 
the  room.  "  The  door  was  partially  and  softly 
opened.  A  thrilling  voice  called  '  Shelley.'  A 
thrilling  voice  answered,  '  Mary  !  '  And  he  darted 
out  of  the  room,  like  an  arrow  -from  the  bow  of  the 
far-shooting  king.  A  very  young  female,  fair  and 
fair-haired,  pale  indeed,  and  with  a  piercing  look, 
wearing  a  frock  of  tartan,  an  unusual  dress  in 
London  at  that  time,  had  called  him  out  of  the 
room.  .  .  .  Her  quietness  certainly  struck  me, 
possibly  also,  for  I  am  not  quite  sure  on  this  point, 
her  paleness  and  piercing  look." 

On  July  7,  the  day  on  which  Hookham  received 
the  letter  from  Harriet  which  I  have  quoted, 
Godwin  appears  to  have  got  a  suspicion,  perhaps 
from  Hookham,  that  Shelley  and  Mary  were  too 
fond  of  each  other.  He  talked  to  Mary  and 
wrote  to  Shelley.  The  result  of  which  was  that 
Shelley  ceased  to  come  to  his  house,  and  that 
Mary  made  up  her  mind  she  could  not  be  his, 
though  she  would  never  cease  to  love  him.     But 

101 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Shelley  was  only  spurred  to  immediate  action. 
He  wrote  to  Harriet  asking  her  to  come  to  London, 
and  she  came  on  July  14.  Then  he  seems  to  have 
proposed  a  separation,  to  which,  as  she  told 
Peacock,  she  would  not  agree.  She,  expecting  to 
be  delivered  of  a  child  in  five  months,  was  made 
ill  by  the  shock.  Eliza  nursed  her  and  Shelley 
was  constantly  with  her,  showing  kindness.  His 
idea,  apparently,  was  that  by  a  mixture  of  kind- 
ness and  reason  he  might  induce  her  to  consent 
to  his  new  passion.  At  least  that  is  Peacock's 
account  of  the  matter  ;  and  it  is  confirmed  by  a 
letter  which  Shelley  wrote  to  her  after  his  flight 
with  Mary  and  which  I  shall  quote  in  due  course. 
Indeed  from  that  letter  he  would  seem  to  have 
persuaded  himself,  or  half-persuaded  himself, 
that  she  did  consent ;  and  he  took  legal  steps  to 
settle  money  on  her  before  his  flight.  She,  on 
the  contrary,  believed  that  he  was  drawn  away 
from  her  by  a  passing  fancy  and  by  the  arts  of 
Mary,  and  that  he  would  come  back  to  her.  She 
thought  that  Mary's  chief  attraction  was  her 
mother's  name.  For  this  reason  she  probably 
seemed  to  Shelley  more  complaisant  than  she  was  ; 
and  so  gave  him  an  excuse  for  believing,  what  he 
wished  to  believe,  that  her  opposition  to  a  separa- 
tion was  not  serious.  She  seems  to  have  persisted 
in  her  hope  that  he  would  come  back  to  her  for 
some  time  after  his  flight  with  Mary,  and  had 
many  interviews  with  him.  It  was  only  by  slow 
degrees  that  she  found  she  had  lost  him  altogether. 

102 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

We  do  not  know  what  was  the  result  of  that 
discovery  upon  her  mind.  We  can  only  judge, 
and  that  doubtfully,  by  the  dreadful  and  obscure 
event. 

It  has  been  assumed  that  Harriet  was  no  wife 
for  him,  even  if  she  was  faithful  to  him.  But 
that  was  not  the  view  of  Peacock,  who  knew  them 
both  well,  and  who  had  no  grudge  against  Shelley. 
He  says  of  Harriet  that  "  She  was  fond  of  her 
husband,  and  accommodated  herself  in  every  way 
to  his  tastes.  If  they  mixed  in  society,  she 
adorned  it ;  if  they  lived  in  retirement,  she  was 
satisfied  ;  if  they  travelled,  she  enjoyed  the  change 
of  scene."  She  was  not  a  woman  of  genius,  but 
genius  would  be  indeed  a  misfortune  if  it  made  a 
man  incapable  of  living  with  any  woman  who 
did  not  possess  it  ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  we 
know  that  Shelley  was  never  passionately  in  love 
with  Harriet,  and  yet  lived  happily  with  her  for 
two  years. 

Shelley  and  Mary  did  not  cease  to  meet  because 
he  came  no  longer  to  Godwin's  house.  He  knew 
that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  visiting  her  mother's 
grave,  and  went  there  to  see  her.  Mary  Godwin, 
in  her  father's  words,  was  singularly  bold,  some- 
what imperious,  and  active  of  mind.  Her  desire 
of  knowledge  was  great,  and  her  perseverance  in 
everything  she  undertook  almost  invincible.  She 
was  now  to  show  her  boldness. 

They  determined  to  fly  together  on  July  28, 
1814.     Mary  left  her  father's  house  about  four  in 

103 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  morning.     Jane  Clair mont,  the  daughter  of 
the  second  Mrs.   Godwin  by  her  first  marriage, 
came  with  her.    They  met  Shelley  at  the  corner 
of  Hatton  Garden,  where  he  was  waiting  for  them 
with  a  post-chaise,  watching,  as  he  said,  until  the 
lightning  and  the  stars  became  pale.    According 
to  Jane  Clairmont's  own  account,  she  had  no  idea 
when  she  went  out  with  Mary  that  a  flight  was 
intended,  and  was  persuaded  at  the  last  moment 
to  share  that  flight   ;  but  her  stories  are  not  to 
be  trusted.     Whatever  reasons  Shelley  and  Mary 
had  for  taking  her  with  them,  they  then  began  a 
connection  that  was  to  be  an  incessant  trouble  to 
them  both,  and  particularly  to  Mary.     No  doubt 
Jane,  who  was  quite  reckless,  enjoyed  the  romance. 
They  reached  Dover  before  four  and  set  off  for 
Calais  in  a  small  boat  at  about  six  on  a  beautiful 
evening,  as  they  did  not  dare  to  wait  for  the 
packet.     Mary  was  seasick  and  lay  in  Shelley's 
arms  through  the  night.    A  strong  contrary  wind 
sprang  up,  so  that  they  were  in  some  danger. 
They  reached  Calais  about  sunrise.    Their  luggage 
had  been  left  to  come  over  in  the  packet.     With  it 
arrived  Mrs.  Godwin,  who  tried  to  persuade  Jane 
to  come  back  with  her ;    but  Jane  after  some 
wavering    refused.     That    night    they    slept    at 
Boulogne  and  then  set  out  in  a  cabriolet  for  Paris, 
which  they  reached  on  August  2.     Shelley  was 
expecting  money  from  Hookham,  the  publisher  ; 
instead  he  got  "  a  cold,  stupid  letter,"  saying  that 
Mrs.  Boinville's  family  were  reduced  to  the  utmost 

104 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

misery  by  the  distant  chance  of  their  being  called 
upon  in  the  course  of  a  year  to  pay  £40  for  him. 
Shelley  himself  was  so  little  troubled  by  the 
thought  that  he  might  have  to  pay  money  in  the 
future,  and  so  ready  to  enter  into  engagements 
for  anybody,  that  he  could  not  understand  such 
anxieties  in  others.  Besides  he  was  lost  in  the 
egotism  of  his  love  and  wanted  money  at  once 
himself ;  so  poor  Mrs.  Boinville,  although  the 
most  perfect  of  women,  seemed  now  a  mere 
irrelevant  nuisance  to  him.  He  sold  his  watch 
and  chain  for  eight  napoleons.  He  was  dis- 
appointed by  the  interior  of  Notre  Dame,  and  in 
the  Louvre  found  a  picture  of  the  Deluge  terribly 
impressive.  Mary,  however,  felt  as  if  "  our  love 
would  alone  suffice  to  resist  the  invasions  of 
calamity.  She  rested  on  my  bosom,  and  seemed 
even  indifferent  to  take  sufficient  food  for  the 
sustenance  of  life." 

At  last,  on  August  7,  Shelley  got  a  remittance 
of  £60.  They  determined  to  walk  to  Uri  in 
Switzerland  ;  and  the  next  morning  Shelley  went 
to  the  ass  market  to  buy  an  ass  that  should  carry 
their  luggage  and  Mary,  if  she  were  not  strong 
enough  to  walk.  Napoleon  had  abdicated  only 
a  few  months  before,  and  France  was  still  unsettled 
after  the  invasion  and  the  disbanding  of  the  army. 
They  were  told  that  the  ladies  would  certainly 
be  carried  off ;  but  they  paid  no  heed.  They 
set  off  for  Charenton  on  the  evening  of  August  8, 
but  found  the  ass  useless.    At  Charenton  they 

105 


SHELLEY:    THE   MAN  AND   THE   POET 

sold  it,  and  bought  a  mule,  with  which  they  set 
out  the  next  morning  on  their  long  journey ;  Shelley 
leading  the  mule  on  which  rode  Mary  in  a  black 
silk  dress,  while  Jane,  also  in  a  black  silk  dress, 
walked  behind  and,  when  she  was  tired,  would 
succeed  Mary  on  the  mule.  They  were  not 
molested,  but  when  they  reached  the  seat  of  the 
war  found  ruin  everywhere,  and  in  one  place 
could  get  no  milk  because  the  Cossacks  had  taken 
all  the  cows.  On  the  fifth  day  Shelley  sprained 
his  ankle  and  had  to  ride.  That  night  they 
reached  Troyes,  where  Shelley  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  Harriet : — 

"  My  dearest  Harriet, — I  write  to  you  from 
this  detestable  town  ;  I  write  to  show  that  I  do 
not  forget  you  ;  I  write  to  urge  you  to  come  to 
Switzerland,  where  you  will  at  last  find  one  firm 
and  constant  friend  to  whom  your  interests  will 
be  always  dear,  by  whom  your  feelings  will  never 
wilfully  be  injured.  From  none  can  you  expect 
this  but  from  me — all  else  are  either  unfeeling 
or  selfish,  or  have  beloved  friends  of  their  own,  as 
Mrs.  Boinville,  to  whom  their  attention  and 
affection  is  confined. 

"  I  will  write  at  length  from  Neufchatel,  or  you 
direct  your  letters,  '  d'etre  laisse  a  la  Bureau  de 
Poste  Neufchatel '  until  you  hear  again.  We  have 
journeyed  from  Paris  on  foot,  with  a  mule  to 
carry  our  baggage  ;  and  Mary,  who  has  not  been 
sufficiently   well    to    walk,    fears    the    fatigue    of 

106 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

walking.  We  passed  through  a  fertile  country, 
neither  interesting  from  the  character  of  its 
inhabitants  nor  the  beauty  of  the  scenery.  We 
came  120  miles  in  four  days  ;  the  last  two  days 
we  passed  over  the  country  that  was  the  seat  of 
war.  I  cannot  describe  to  you  the  frightful 
desolation  of  this  scene ;  village  after  village 
entirely  ruined  and  burned,  the  white  ruins  tower- 
ing in  innumerable  forms  of  destruction  among 
the  beautiful  trees.  The  inhabitants  were  fam- 
ished ;  families  once  independent  now  beg  their 
bread  in  this  wretched  country  ;  no  provisions  ;  no 
accommodation  ;  filth,  misery,  and  famine  every- 
where (you  will  see  nothing  of  this  on  your  route 
to  Geneva).  I  must  remark  to  you,  that  dreadful 
as  these  calamities  are,  I  can  scarcely  pity  the 
inhabitants  ;  they  are  the  most  unamiable,  in- 
hospitable, and  unaccommodating  of  the  human 
race.  We  go  by  some  carriage  from  this  town  to 
Neufchatel,  because  I  have  strained  my  leg  and 
am  unable  to  walk.  I  hope  to  be  recovered  by 
that  time  ;  but  on  our  last  day's  journey  I  was 
perfectly  unable  to  walk.  Mary  resigned  the 
mule  to  me.  Our  walk  has  been,  excepting  this, 
sufficiently  agreeable  ;  we  have  met  none  of  the 
robbers  they  prophesied  at  Paris.  You  shall 
know  our  adventures  more  detailed,  if  I  do  not 
hear  at  Neufchatel  that  I  am  soon  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  communicating  to  you  in  person,  and 
of  welcoming  you  to  some  sweet  retreat  I  will 
procure  for  you  among  the  mountains.     I  have 

107 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

written  to  Peacock  to  superintend  money  affairs  ;  he 
is  expensive,  inconsiderate,  and  cold,  but  surely  not 
utterly  perfidious  and  unfriendly,  and  unmindful 
of  our  kindness  to  him  ;  besides,  interest  will 
secure  his  attention  to  these  things.  I  wish  you 
to  bring  with  you  the  two  deeds  which  Tahourdin 
has  to  prepare  for  you,  as  also  a  copy  of  the 
settlement.  Do  not  part  with  any  of  your  money. 
But  what  shall  be  done  about  the  books  ?  You 
can  consult  on  the  spot.  With  love  to  my  sweet 
little  Ianthe,  ever  most  affectionately  yours,  S. 
"  I  write  in  great  haste  ;   we  depart  directly." 

It  appears  from  this  letter  that  Shelley  had 
quite  persuaded  himself  that  things  were  as  he 
wished  them  to  be  ;  that  Harriet  was  reconciled 
to  his  behaviour,  and  that  he  was  still  her  firm 
and  constant  friend,  doing  the  best  for  her  that 
could  be  done  in  the  circumstances. 

On  August  18  they  reached  Pontarlier,  and  next 
day  came  to  Neufchatel,  where  Shelley  got  some 
more  money.  On  August  23  they  were  at  Briinnen, 
where  they  took  two  rooms  in  a  chateau,  engaging 
them  for  six  months  at  a  guinea  a  month.  Finding 
that  the  chateau  was  very  uncomfortable,  and 
that  they  had  only  £28  to  last  to  December,  they 
suddenly  made  up  their  minds  to  return  to  England 
at  once,  by  water ;  Shelley  no  doubt  forgetting 
that  he  had  invited  Harriet  to  come  to  Switzerland. 
At  7  a.m.  on  August  27  they  set  off  in  a  boat  for 
Lucerne.     From  there  they  went  on  the  Reuss  to 

108 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

Bale,  and  thence  down  the  Rhine  to  Cologne, 
from  which  place  they  drove  to  Rotterdam.  They 
were  in  London  on  September  13,  but  not  before 
they  had  run  short  of  money. 

Godwin  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  them, 
except  that  he  took  all  the  money  from  Shelley 
that  he  could  get.  His  position  was  this — since 
he  was  Shelley's  debtor  and  hoped  to  increase  his 
debt,  he  could  not  forgive  him  and  Mary,  lest  he 
should  be  suspected  of  doing  so  for  a  bribe .  Shelley 
himself  was  in  great  straits  for  money  and  remained 
so  for  some  months.  When  he  went  to  his  banker 
he  found  that  all  his  money  had  been  drawn  by 
Harriet.  According  to  Jane,  he  then  went  to 
Harriet  for  money  and  got  £20  from  her,  together 
with  some  natural  reproaches.  It  seems  that  the 
poor  woman  still  expected  that  he  would  come 
back  to  her.  Mary's  Journal  in  October  notes 
that  "  a  good-humoured  letter  "  had  been  received 
from  Harriet.  Then  came  a  rumour  that  Harriet 
had  been  plotting  to  have  Godwin  arrested  for 
debt.  On  November  30  Harriet  was  delivered  of 
a  boy,  an  eight-months  child.  Shelley  did  not 
hear  of  it  for  a  week.  On  December  6  there  is 
this  entry  in  Mary's  Diary  :  "  A  letter  from  Hook- 
ham  to  say  that  Harriet  has  been  brought  to  bed 
of  a  son  and  heir.  Shelley  writes  a  number  of 
circular  letters  of  this  event  which  ought  to  be 
ushered  in  with  ringing  of  bells,  &c,  for  it  is  the 
son  of  his  wife.  A  letter  from  Harriet  confirming 
the  news,  in  a  letter  from  a  deserted  wife  !  !  and 

109 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

telling  us  he  has  been  born  a  week."  Shelley  saw 
Harriet  the  next  day,  but  they  quarrelled.  The 
baby  was  named  Charles  Bysshe.  On  December 
20  Harriet  threatened  legal  proceedings.  On 
January  2,  1815,  Mary's  Diary  contains  this  note  : 
"  Harriet  sends  her  creditors  here  ;  nasty  woman. 
Now  we  must  change  our  lodgings."  Shelley 
continued  to  see  Harriet  at  intervals  for  some 
months  at  least,  but  then  lost  sight  of  her.  The 
last  interview  we  hear  of  was  on  April  22,  1815. 

Those  who  are  inclined  to  think  of  Shelley's 
desertion  of  his  first  wife  as  a  romantic  event,  or 
a  symptom  of  his  genius,  or  a  heroic  protest  against 
the  tyranny  of  convention,  or  anything  else  that 
it  was  not,  should  give  attention  to  the  squalid 
incidents  of  his  life  at  this  time,  when  he  was 
getting  money  from  the  wife  he  had  deserted,  and 
trying  to  persuade  her  and  himself  that  he  had 
not  deserted  her,  dodging  bailiffs,  and  haggling 
with  money-lenders. 

The  passages  from  Mary's  Journal  which  I 
have  quoted,  prove  that  even  she  was  so  wrought 
upon  that  she  wrote  bitterly  and  meanly  of  the 
woman  she  had  wronged. 

Jane  Clairmont  was  still  living  with  the  Shelleys. 
At  this  time  she  called  herself  Clara ;  afterwards 
Clare  or  Claire.  She  soon  became  a  nuisance  to 
Mary  and  even  to  Shelley  ;  though  he  always  took 
a  sentimental  interest  in  her,  which  often  troubled 
his  wife.      Clara  was  a  girl  who  might  have  been 

no 


THE  BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

happy  and  useful  and  healthy  in  her  mind  if  she 
had  married  a  kind  and  sensible  husband  and 
borne  him  children ;  nothing  could  be  worse  for 
her  than   to  live  with   Shelley  and  Mary.     She 
was  hysterical  and  full  of    wild    ambitions,    no 
doubt  because  she  needed  to  marry.     She  thought 
of  herself  as  the  centre  of  the  universe ;    and  in 
that    household    she    was    only    a    third    person 
with    no    function   to   perform.      There    was    a 
romantic  rumour  that  Godwin  or  his  wife  designed 
to  shut  her  up  in  a  convent.     Therefore  Shelley 
must   protect   her  from   tyranny   and  teach  her 
Greek.     Very  soon    Mary  began   to   fret    at   his 
interest  in  her.     There  is  an  entry  in  her  Diary 
for  December  6,   1814  :    "  Very  unwell.     Shelley 
and  Clara  walk  out,  as  usual,  to  heaps  of  places." 
Mary  was  already  with  child,  and  no  doubt  wished 
for  Shelley's  companionship  when  she  could  not 
go  out.     She  got  little  of  the  tranquillity  that  she 
needed.     In  October  she  only  saw  Shelley  at  short 
interviews,  for  he  was  hiding  from  bailiffs,  and 
she   had   to   content   herself   with   frequent   and 
rapturous  letters.     "  It  seems  as  if  you  alone," 
he  wrote,   "could  shield  me  from  impurity  and 
vice.     If  I  were  absent  from  you  long  I  should 
shudder  with  horror  at  myself  ;  my  understanding 
becomes  undisciplined  without  you.     I  believe  I 
must  become  in  Mary's  hands  what  Harriet  was  in 
mine.     Yet  how  differently  disposed — how  devoted 
and  affectionate,  how,  beyond  measure,  reverenc- 
ing and  adoring  the  intelligence  that  governs  me!" 

in 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

A  few  days  before  this  there  is  an  entry  in  his 
Journal  from  which  it  appears  that  he  was  noticing 
his  own  weakness  and  making  up  his  mind  not 
to  waste  his  emotions  on  other  women  besides 
Mary  : — 

"  Jane's  insensibility  and  incapacity  for  the 
slightest  degree  of  friendship.  The  feelings  occa- 
sioned by  this  discovery  prevent  me  from  main- 
taining any  measure  in  security.  This  highly 
incorrect ;  subversion  of  the  first  principles  of 
true  philosophy ;  characters,  particularly  those 
which  are  unformed,  may  change.  Beware  of 
weakly  giving  way  to  trivial  sympathies.  Content 
yourself  with  one  great  affection — with  a  single 
mighty  hope  ;  let  the  rest  of  mankind  be  the 
subjects  of  your  benevolence,  your  justice,  and, 
as  human  beings,  of  your  sensibility  ;  but,  as  you 
value  many  hours  of  peace,  never  suffer  more  than 
one  even  to  approach  the  hallowed  circle." 

On  this  occasion  it  would  appear  that  Clara 
had  seemed  to  want  more  than  friendship  and 
had  startled  Shelley  into  a  sense  of  the  danger  of 
spiritual  flirtations.  She  was  hysterical,  and  after 
sitting  up  late  with  Shelley  until  they  were  both 
overwrought,  had  burst  in  upon  him  with  the 
story  that  her  pillow  had  been  supernaturally 
removed  from  her  bed  to  a  chair.  Shelley  took  the 
story  quite  seriously  and  they  sat  by  the  fire  "  at 
intervals  engaged  in  awful  conversation  relative  to 
the  nature  of  these  mysteries."  At  dawn  Jane 
saw  something  dreadful  in  Shelley's  expression, 

112 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

and  fell  into  convulsions,  shrieking  and  writhing 
on  the  floor.  Soon  even  Shelley  saw  that  she  was 
playing  hysterical  tricks  and  made  this  entry  in 
his  Journal :  "  The  next  morning  the  chimney 
board  in  Jane's  room  is  found  to  have  walked 
leisurely  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  accompanied 
by  the  pillow,  who,  being  very  sleepy,  tried  to  get 
into  bed  again,  but  fell  down  on  his  back." 

Yet  the  poor  Jane  was  making  some  efforts  to 
behave  well.  She  quarrelled  with  Shelley,  but 
saw  that  he  was  patient  and  kind  with  her.  Here 
is  an  extract  from  her  Diary : — 

"  Shelley  comes  into  my  room  and  thinks  he 
was  to  blame,  but  I  don't.  How  I  like  good, 
kind,  explaining  people  !  " 

In  this  troubled  time  Shelley  was  paying  for 
past  follies,  and  learning  from  what  he  suffered 
and  the  effort  to  do  better.  He  saw  how  much 
he  needed  tranquillity  to  practise  his  art.  Pea- 
cock tells  us  that  once  when  he  had  been  quoting 
Wordsworth  he  suddenly  asked,  "  Do  you  think 
Wordsworth  could  have  written  such  poetry  if 
he  ever  had  dealings  with  money-lenders  ?  "  He 
was  learning  that  a  man  of  genius  must  waste  a 
great  part  of  his  genius  unless  he  orders  his  life 
well.  He  needs  to  practise  a  wise  economy  as 
much  as  a  man  of  business. 

On  January  6,  1815,  Sir  Bysshe  Shelley  died, 
aged  eighty-three.     Shelley  went  to  Field  Place 
to  hear  the  will  read.     He  was  refused  admittance  ; 
8  113 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

so  he  sat  by  the  door  and  read  "  Comus."  There 
were  certain  estates  settled  on  him  the  reversion 
of  which  it  was  possible  for  his  father  to  purchase 
from  him  at  once.  Timothy  was  eager  to  do  this, 
because  he  wished  to  keep  the  family  property 
together  and  he  feared  that  Shelley  would  dissipate 
it.  He  wished  his  younger  son  John  to  be  his  heir  ; 
and  he  had  long  been  engaged  in  futile  negotiations 
with  Shelley  to  this  end.  Now  that  there  were 
some  estates  which  might  be  secured  to  John 
he  was  ready  to  pay  for  the  chance  of  securing 
them.  Thus  in  June,  1815,  he  agreed  to  pay  Shelley 
an  income  of  £1,000  a  year  and  about  £5,000  down 
for  his  debts,  which  included  £1,000  promised 
to  Godwin.  Shelley  at  once  sent  Harriet  £200 ; 
and  appears  to  have  made  her  an  allowance  of 
£200  a  year.  As  she  still  had  the  same  sum  from 
her  father,  she  was  now  in  no  want  of  money. 

In  February  Mary  was  delivered  of  a  seven- 
months  child,  a  girl.  No  doubt  the  premature 
birth  was  the  result  of  worry  and  anxiety.  The 
child  died  on  March  6,  and  Mary  grieved  much 
for  it,  and  fretted  at  the  continual  presence  of 
Clara.  In  May  Clara  was  got  rid  of  for  a  time 
and  there  is  a  note  in  Mary's  Journal :  "I  begin 
a  new  journal  with  our  regeneration."  Clara 
went  to  Lynmouth.  In  July  Shelley  was  looking 
for  a  house  in  South  Devon  and  Mary  was  at 
Clifton.  From  a  letter  she  wrote  on  July  27  we 
can  learn  of  her  anxieties  about  Shelley  and  of  her 
way   of  managing   him.     She   thinks  they  have 

114 


THE   BREAK  WITH  HARRIET 

been  apart  too  long.  "  We  ought  not  to  be 
absent  any  longer  ;  indeed  we  ought  not.  I  am 
not  happy  at  it."  "  You  will  say,  shall  we  neglect 
taking  a  house — a  dear  home  ?  No,  my  love,  I 
would  not  for  worlds  give  up  that ;  but  I  know 
what  seeking  for  a  house  is,  and,  trust  me,  it  is  a 
very,  very  long  job,  too  long  for  one  love  to  under- 
take in  the  absence  of  the  other.  Dearest,  I 
know  how  it  will  be  ;  we  shall  both  of  us  be  put 
off,  day  after  day,  with  the  hopes  of  the  success 
of  the  next  day's  search,  for  I  am  frightened  to 
think  how  long." 

Then  comes  this  passage  : — 

"  Pray,  is  Clara  with  you  ?  for  I  have  inquired 
several  times,  and  no  letters ;  but,  seriously,  it 
would  not  in  the  least  surprise  me  (if  you  have 
written  to  her  from  London,  and  let  her  know 
that  you  are  without  me)  that  she  should  have 
taken  some  such  freak." 

We  do  not  know  whether  Clara  was  with  him, 
but  he  was  soon  with  Mary  and  took  a  house,  not 
in  Devonshire,  but  at  Bishopsgate,  close  to  Windsor 
Forest.  Here  he  conceived  the  project  of  rowing 
far  up  the  Thames ;  and  at  the  end  of  August 
started  with  Mary,  Peacock,  and  Clara's  brother 
Charles.  They  rowed  for  ten  days,  as  far  as  they 
could.  Shelley  had  the  idea  of  entering  a  canal 
at  Lechlade  and  so  passing  to  the  Severn  and 
tracking  that  river  also  to  its  source.  But  even 
this  idea  did  not  content  him  ;  he  would  go  by 
canals  and  rivers  from  North  Wales  to  Durham 

115 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  the  Lakes,  then  to  the  Tweed  and  on  to  the 
Forth  and  the  Falls  of  Clyde.  But  the  commis- 
sioners would  not  let  them  through  the  Severn 
Canal  for  less  than  £20  ;  so  that  he  had  to  fancy 
and  describe  all  these  river  wanderings  in  "  Alas- 
tor." 

The  "  Lines  on  Lechlade  Churchyard  "  were  the 
result  of  this  expedition.  They  are  the  earliest 
example  of  Shelley's  power  of  generalized  yet  vivid 
description.  He  could  convey  an  impression  by 
the  quality  rather  than  the  sense  of  his  language, 
as  Constable,  in  his  sketches,  by  the  quality  of 
his  paint. 

' '  Thou  too,  aerial  Pile,  whose  pinnacles 

Point  from  one  shrine  like  pyramids  of  fire, 

Obeyest  in  silence  their  sweet  solemn  spells, 

Clothing  in  hues  of  heaven  thy  dim  and  distant  spire, 

Around  whose  lessening  and  invisible  height 

Gather  among  the  stars  the  clouds  of  night." 

When  he  returned  to  Bishopsgate  he  wrote 
"  Alastor,"  the  first  of  his  longer  poems  that  should 
be  read  for  its  own  sake.  It  was  published  in 
March,  1816.  In  January  Mary  had  given  birth 
to  a  boy,  who  was  christened  William,  after 
Godwin. 


116 


CHAPTER     VI 
"  ALASTOR  " 

TN  his  preface  to  "Alastor"  Shelley  says  that 
■*■  "it  represents  a  youth  of  uncorrupted feelings 
and  adventurous  genius  led  forth  by  an  imagina- 
tion inflamed  and  purified  through  familiarity  with 
all  that  is  excellent  and  majestic,  to  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  universe.  ...  So  long  as  it  is  possible 
for  his  desire  to  point  towards  objects  thus  infinite 
and  unmeasured  he  is  joyous,  and  tranquil,  and 
self-possessed.  But  the  period  arrives  when 
these  objects  cease  to  suffice.  His  mind  is  at 
length  suddenly  awakened  and  thirsts  for  inter- 
course with  an  intelligence  similar  to  itself.  He 
images  to  himself  the  Being  whom  he  loves.  .  .  . 
The  vision  in  which  he  embodies  his  own  imagina- 
tions unites  all  of  wonderful  or  wise  or  beautiful, 
which  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  or  the  lover  could 
depicture.  .  .  .  He  seeks  in  vain  for  a  prototype 
of  his  conception.  Blasted  by  disappointment, 
he  descends  to  an  untimely  grave." 

Yet  his  fate,  Shelley  considers,  is  more  desirable 
than  the  fate  of  those  who  are  "deluded  by  no 
generous  error,  instigated  by  no  sacred  thirst  of 
doubtful  knowledge,  duped  by  no  illustrious  super- 

117 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

stition,  loving  nothing  on  this  earth  and  cherishing 
no  hopes  beyond."  These  "  have  their  appor- 
tioned curse.  .  .  .  They  are  morally  dead.  They 
are  neither  friends,  nor  lovers,  nor  fathers,  nor 
citizens  of  the  world,  nor  benefactors  of  their 
country."  His  conclusion,  not  expressed  in  the 
poem  itself,  is  that  to  attempt  to  live  without 
human  sympathy  is  fatal  for  men  whether  high 
or  low  minded.  "  Those  who  love  not  their  fellow- 
beings  live  unfruitful  lives,  and  prepare  for  their 
old  age  a  miserable  grave."  No  doubt  he  began 
to  be  aware  of  a  lack  of  human  sympathy  in  him- 
self, and  to  see  that  loving  humanity  at  large  is 
not  the  same  thing  as  loving  particular  human 
beings. 

But  in  his  poem  he  is  still  only  concerned  with 
the  youth  who  seeks  for  the  ideal  in  the  form  of 
a  perfect  woman.  He  is,  of  course,  a  poet,  and 
drawn,  in  an  abstract  style,  from  Shelley  himself 
and  his  own  experience.  Shelley's  mind  was  full 
of  his  voyages  on  the  Reuss,  the  Rhine,  and  the 
Thames.  Therefore  the  poet  makes  a  long  river 
voyage. 

In  the  course  of  his  wanderings  he  comes  to  the 
Vale  of  Cashmere  and  there,  while  he  slept — 

"  A  vision  on  his  sleep 
There  came,  a  dream  of  hopes  that  never  yet 
Had  flushed  his  cheek.     He  dreamed  a  veiled  maid 
Sate  near  him,  talking  in  low  solemn  tones. 
Her  voice  was  like  the  voice  of  his  own  soul 
Heard  in  the  calm  of  thought. 

•  •  «  •  •  «  • 

118 


"  ALASTOR  " 

Sudden  she  rose, 
As  if  her  heart  impatiently  endured 
Its  bursting  burthen  :    at  the  sound  he  turned, 
And  saw  by  the  warm  light  of  their  own  life 
Her  glowing  limbs  beneath  the  sinuous  veil 
Of  woven  wind,  her  outspread  arms  now  bare, 
Her  dark  locks  floating  in  the  breath  of  night, 
Her  beamy  bending  eyes,  her  parted  lips 
Outstretched,  and  pale,  and  quivering  eagerly. 
His  strong  heart  sunk  and  sickened  with  excess 
Of  love.     He  reared  his  shuddering  limbs  and  quelled 
His  gasping  breath,  and  spread  his  arms  to  meet 
Her  panting  bosom:  .  .  .  she  drew  back  a  while, 
Then,  yielding  to  the  irresistible  joy, 
With  frantic  gesture  and  short  breathless  cry 
Folded  his  frame  in  her  dissolving  arms. 
Now  blackness  veiled  his  dizzy  eyes,  and  night 
Involved  and  swallowed  up  the  vision  ;  sleep, 
Like  a  dark  flood  suspended  in  its  course, 
Rolled  back  its  impulse  on  his  vacant  brain." 

When  he  awoke  to  the  cold  light  of  morning 
he  found  he  had  been  fooled  by  a  dream ;  and 
the  rest  of  the  poem  describes  his  wanderings  in 
search  of  that  fleeting  shade,  and  his  death,  foiled 
in  the  wilderness.  By  the  lone  Chorasmian  shore 
he  embarks  in  a  shallop  and  is  carried  far  over 
the  sea  to  the  foot  of  the  Caucasus.  Then  a  whirl- 
pool carries  him  through  a  cavern  into  a  stream 
among  the  mountains  and  through  many  wonderful 
places  wonderfully  described.  At  last,  in  a  moun- 
tain solitude,  he  dies,  gazing  at  the  moon,  and 
just  as  she  sinks  behind  the  hills. 

The  poem  contains  750  lines  of  blank  verse,  and 
I  give  this  bald  abstract  of  it  only  to  show  the 
character  of   its   theme.     Keats   took   the   same 

119 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

theme  for  his  "Belle  Dame  sans  Merci,"  but  his 
poem  is  all  concentration  and  conscious  and 
triumphant  art.  Shelley's  is  all  diffusion,  and 
he  shows  but  little  art  in  the  management  of  it. 
The  event  for  Keats  is  everything  and  every  word 
is  concerned  with  it.  Shelley  almost  loses  it  in 
description,  much  of  it  irrelevant.  In  fact,  his 
poem  really  has  two  subjects.  There  is  the  vision 
and  the  wild  quest  for  the  reality  ending  in  death  ; 
and  there  is  the  description  of  mountain  and  river 
scenery.  Of  course  there  is  an  attempt  to  make 
the  descriptions  part  of  the  quest ;  but  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  they  come  in  because  Shelley 
had  enjoyed  his  river  voyages.  This  vague  and 
divided  purpose  is  a  besetting  weakness  of  the 
romantic  poets,  who  were  all  apt  to  start  upon  a 
long  poem  without  knowing  what  they  would  make 
of  it,  and  to  use  it  as  an  excuse  for  saying  whatever 
they  wanted  to  say. 

"  Alastor  "  is  meant  to  be  a  narrative  poem, 
but  it  has  not  enough  incident  for  its  length,  and 
constantly  tends  to  become  lyrical.  Therefore 
it  is  remembered  not  for  the  impression  made 
by  the  whole  story,  for  that  is  vague  and  weak, 
but  for  separate  lyrical  passages. 

No  doubt  "Alastor"  expresses  a  reaction  in 
Shelley's  mind  from  that  old  confidence  of  his  that 
the  ideal  is  attainable  in  this  world.  He,  like 
other  youths,  had  hoped  that  love  would  bring 
him  all  imaginable  delight ;  but  from  the  first 
he  had  combined  and  confused  his  dream  of  love 

120 


"  ALASTOR  " 

with  dreams  of  the  millennium.  Whenever  he  saw 
a  beautiful  girl  he  thought  of  her  as  an  agent  for 
accomplishing  the  millennium,  and  of  the  millen- 
nium itself  as  a  kind  of  Paradise  of  inspired  houris. 
There  was  something  noble  in  this  association  of 
ideas.  Shelley  was  not  content  only  with  the  idea 
of  his  own  happiness ;  he  wanted  the  universe 
to  share  his  raptures.  But  there  was  also  some- 
thing enervating  and  dangerous  ;  and  now  he  had 
begun  to  see  the  danger  and  to  be  dismayed  by  it. 
In  "  Alastor  "  Shelley  seems  indeed  to  be  beat- 
ing his  wings  in  the  void,  an  angel  without  a 
heaven,  and  suddenly  aware  that  there  is  no  home 
for  him  in  the  universe,  and  no  future  except 
to  tower  into  nothingness  until  his  wings  fail  and 
his  heart  breaks.  This  notion  of  his  own  fate, 
which  is  the  main  theme  of  "  Alastor,"  came  back 
to  him  again  and  again  in  after  years,  often  cutting 
short  his  inspiration  with  a  fall  as  swift  and  beau- 
tiful as  its  rise.  But  behind  the  despair  of  a  great 
poet  there  is  always  an  unconscious  faith  without 
which  he  could  make  no  music.  For  if  he  were 
utterly  given  up  to  despair  he  could  say  nothing  ; 
and  that  is  why  beauty  justifies  the  wildest  lamenta- 
tions of  Shelley.  Whatever  the  sense  of  the  words 
may  be  there  is  hope  and  even  triumph  in  that 
emotion  which  the  music  communicates : — 

"  Art  and  eloquence, 
And  all  the  shows  o'  the  world  are  frail  and  vain 
To  weep  a  loss  that  turns  their  lights  to  shade. 
It  is  a  woe  '  too  deep  for  tears,'  when  all 
Is  reft  at  once,  when  some  surpassing  Spirit, 

121 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Whose  light  adorned  the  world  around  it,  leaves 
Those  who  remain  behind,  not  sobs  or  groans, 
The  passionate  tumult  of  a  clinging  hope  ; 
But  pale  despair  and  cold  tranquillity, 
Nature's  vast  frame,  the  web  of  human  things, 
Birth  and  the  grave,  that  are  not  as  they  were." 

These  are  the  closing  lines  of  "  Alastor,"  and 
they  sound  with  a  music  then  new  to  the  world, 
a  music  not  quite  sure  of  itself  or  what  it  means, 
but  already  clear  and  irresistible.  A  prose  para- 
phrase of  these  lines,  however  close  to  the  sense, 
would  misrepresent  them,  for  it  would  fail  to 
express  just  what  gives  them  value,  the  delight  of 
a  great  poet  in  what  his  reason,  for  the  moment, 
tells  him  to  despair  of. 

Already  in  "Alastor"  Shelley  showed  himself 
a  greater  master  of  blank  verse  than  any  other 
poet  of  the  time.  He  was  the  only  one  of  the 
romantic  poets  who  wrote  blank  verse  that  was 
quite  original  and  yet  never  prosaic.  He  made 
it  swifter  and  more  lyrical  than  it  ever  had  been 
before,  distinguishing  it  from  prose  without  any 
contortions  of  language.  In  the  blank  verse  of 
"  Alastor  "  we  can  see  here  and  there  the  influence 
of  Wordsworth,  of  Milton,  and  of  Shakespeare  ; 
but  it  is  not  a  mere  patchwork  of  styles.  He  uses 
the  manner  of  each  poet  for  his  own  purposes  and 
subject  to  his  own  inspiration.  Here  is  a  Miltonic 
passage  : — 

"Where  the  secret  caves 
Rugged  and  dark,  winding  among  the  springs 
Of  fire  and  poison,  inaccessible 
To  avarice  or  pride,  their  starry  domes 

122 


(t 


ALASTOR  " 


Of  diamond  and  of  gold  expand  above 
Numberless  and  immeasurable  halls, 
Frequent  with  crystal  column,  and  clear  shrines 
Of  pearl,  and  thrones  radiant  with  chrysolite." 

Here  is  one  that  recalls  Shakespeare  at  the  begin- 
ning : — 

"  Heartless  things 
Are  done  and  said  i'  the  world,  and  many  worms 
And  beasts  and  men  live  on,  and  mighty  Earth 
From  sea  and  mountain,  city  and  wilderness, 
In  vesper  low  or  joyous  orison, 
Lifts  still  its  solemn  voice." 

But  after  a  line  or  two  it  becomes  half  Milton, 
half  pure  Shelley.  The  influence  of  Wordsworth 
is  more  general,  and  shows  itself  not  so  much  in  any 
tricks  of  language  as  in  ideas  and  in  the  use  of 
blank  verse  to  express  them.  Shelley  had  come 
by  his  Wordsworthian  ideas  easily  enough,  and 
he  expressed  them  easily  and  fluently.  Thus 
nothing  is  said  in  the  poem  that  advances  the  his- 
tory of  the  human  mind,  like  some  passages  in  the 
"Excursion"  and  the  "Prelude."  But  Shelley 
already  knew,  better  than  Wordsworth  ever 
knew,  the  difference  between  poetry  and  prose. 
His  weaker  passages  are  not  flat,  like  Wordsworth's, 
but  vague  and  empty  ;  and  all  through  the  poem 
there  is  an  impetus  of  continual  emotion  which 
we  never  find  in  Wordsworth's  blank  verse.  That 
impetus  quickens  all  Shelley's  best  poetry  and 
compensates  for  its  lack  of  weight  and  richness. 
There  has  survived  a  prose  fragment  on  Love 
which  Shelley  probably  wrote  about  the  same 
time  as  "  Alastor,"  and  which  tells  us  more  than 

123 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

most  of  his  prose  works  about  his  most  instinctive 
and  persistent  ideas.     He  says  that,  when  he  has 
thought  to  unburthen  his  inmost  soul  to  other  men, 
he  has  found  his  language  misunderstood  like  one 
in  a  distant  and  savage  land.     Everywhere  he  has 
sought   sympathy   and  found   only  repulse   and 
disappointment.     "  We  are  born  into  the  world, 
and  there  is  something  within  us  which,  from  the 
instant  that  we  live,  more  and  more  thirsts  after  its 
likeness.  .  .  .  We  dimly  see  within  our  intellectual 
nature  a  miniature  as  it  were  of  our  entire  self, 
yet  deprived  of  all  that  we  condemn  or  despise, 
the  ideal  prototype  of  everything  excellent  and 
lovely  that  we  are  capable  of  conceiving  as  belong- 
ing to  the  nature  of  man  ...  a  soul  within  our 
own  soul  that  describes  a  circle  around  its  proper 
Paradise,  which  pain  and  sorrow  and  evil  dare  not 
overleap.    To  this  we  eagerly  refer  all  sensations, 
thirsting  that  they  should  resemble  or  correspond 
with  it."    And  he  goes  on  to  say  that  what  love 
aims  at  is  the  discovery  of  another  soul  in  perfect 
correspondence    with    this    one.    The    fragment 
ends  with  a  passage  upon  the  love  of  nature  : — 
"  In  solitude  or  in  that  deserted  state  when  we 
are  surrounded  by  human  beings  and  yet  they 
sympathise  not  with  us,  we  love  the  flowers,  the 
grass,  the  waters,  and  the  sky.     In  the  motion  of 
the  very  leaves  of  spring,  in  the  blue  air,  there 
is  then  found  a  secret  correspondence  with  our 
heart.    There  is  eloquence  in  the  tongueless  wind, 
and  a  melody  in  the  flowing  brooks  and  the  rust- 

124 


"  ALASTOR 


»j 


ling  of  the  reeds  beside  them,  which  by  their 
inconceivable  relation  to  something  within  the 
soul,  awaken  the  spirits  to  a  dance  of  breathless 
rapture,  and  bring  tears  of  mysterious  tenderness 
to  the  eyes,  like  the  enthusiasm  of  patriotic  success, 
or  the  voice  of  one  beloved  singing  to  you  alone." 
We  might  take  this  for  a  piece  of  mere  rhetoric 
if  it  were  not  by  the  author  of  "  The  Cloud."  From 
that  and  other  poems  we  know  that  Shelley  was 
speaking  the  truth  about  himself,  though  not  in 
his  own  true  language,  when  he  wrote  it,  and  as 
it  is  true  that  he  could  love  the  beauty  of  the 
earth  and  sky  as  other  men  can  love  human 
beauty  and  could  see  the  same  virtue  and  signifi- 
cance in  it,  so  it  is  also  true  that  he  was  aware  of  an 
ideal  in  himself,  a  soul  within  his  soul,  by  which 
he  measured  all  things  and  with  which  he  aspired 
to  master  the  universe,  to  shatter  it  to  bits,  and 
then  remould  it  nearer  to  his  heart's  desire.  It 
was  in  the  strength  and  persistence  of  this  ideal 
passion  that  he  varied  from  the  kindly  race  of 
men,  seeming  to  live  for  some  great  end  of  his 
own,  and  in  no  way  to  be  subject  to  the  laws  that 
connect  men  with  other  living  things.  At  least  he 
was  scarcely  aware  of  his  own  body,  except  when 
it  troubled  him  with  pain,  or  of  any  carnal  mixture 
in  his  passions.  He  hated  the  flesh  like  a  puritan  ; 
but  instead  of  mortifying  it,  he  ignored  its  existence, 
and  glorified  love,  not  as  a  natural  function,  but 
as  if  it  were  an  inspiration  and  produced  children 
as  poetry  and  music  are  produced. 

125 


CHAPTER     VII 

THE  SWISS  TOUR  AND  THE  DEATH 
OF  HARRIET 

GODWIN  was  still  troubling  Shelley  with  his 
righteous  indignation  and  his  demands 
for  money.  He  insisted  that  there  should  be 
only  business  communications  between  them.  He 
would  take  cheques,  but  they  must  not  be  made 
payable  to  him.  This  scruple  was  not  so  pedantic 
as  it  seemed,  for  there  was  a  report  that  he  had 
sold  Mary  and  Claire  to  Shelley,  each  for  a  good 
round  sum.  At  that  time  the  orthodox  were 
ready  to  believe  anything  of  the  unorthodox. 
Morality,  religion,  and  the  British  Constitution 
must  stand  or  fall  together  ;  and  anyone  who  was 
against  one  of  them  in  any  particular  was  against 
all  three  in  everything. 

Shelley  was  very  patient  with  Godwin,  less 
perhaps  because  he  had  run  away  with  his  daughter 
than  because  Godwin  was  the  author  of  "  Political 
Justice "  ;  and  he  wrote  him  business  letters 
explaining  with  lucidity  and  precision  the  com- 
plicated state  of  his  own  affairs  and  the  difficulty 
which  he  found  in  helping  him.  But  at  last  God- 
win provoked  him  to  anger,  and  he  wrote  :  "  Do 
not  talk  of  forgiveness  again  to  me,  for  my  blood 

126 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

boils  in  my  veins,  and  my  gall  rises  against  all  that 
bear  the  human  form,  when  I  think  of  what  I, 
their  benefactor  and  ardent  lover,  have  endured  of 
enmity  and  contempt  from  you  and  all  mankind." 

This  feeling  of  his,  that  he  meant  well  by  all  the 
world  and  that  the  world  repaid  him  with  enmity 
and  contempt,  was  the  chief  reason,  perhaps,  why 
he  determined  to  go  abroad  early  in  1816.  No 
doubt  Mary  was  made  to  feel  the  irregularity  of 
her  position  at  every  turn.  They  had  few  friends 
in  England  and  might  make  more  abroad,  where 
they  could  also  live  more  cheaply.  But  Peacock 
tells  us  that  Shelley  in  this  case,  as  when  he 
left  Keswick  and  Tremadoc,  said  that  he  was 
threatened  by  a  mysterious  peril,  and  in  this  case, 
as  in  the  others,  Peacock  thought  that  the  peril  was 
the  effect  rather  than  the  cause  of  his  desire  to  go. 

Peacock  tells  us  that  he  would  discuss  the  truth 
of  his  own  fancies  with  freedom  and  calmness, 
"with  the  good  temper  and  good  feeling  which 
never  forsook  him  in  conversation  with  his  friends. 
There  was  an  evident  anxiety  for  acquiescence, 
but  a  quiet  and  gentle  toleration  of  dissent.  A 
personal  discussion,  however  interesting  to  him- 
self, was  carried  on  with  the  same  calmness  as  if 
it  related  to  the  most  abstract  question  in  meta- 
physics. Indeed,  one  of  the  great  charms  of 
intercourse  with  him  was  the  perfect  good 
humour  and  openness  to  conviction  with  which  he 
responded  to  opinions  opposed  to  his  own." 

In  May,  1816,  Shelley,  Mary,  and  Claire  started 

127 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

for  Geneva.     Claire  had  reasons  unknown  to  the 
other  two  for  going  with  them.     She  had  wished 
to  become  an  actress,  and  had  called  on  Byron 
with  the  idea  of  getting  an  engagement  at  Drury 
Lane  through  his  influence.     Byron  had  seduced 
her,   probably  without   much  resistance   on   her 
part,  for  she,  like  Mary,  had  not  been  brought  up 
to  consider  that  marriage  was  an  important  addi- 
tion to  love.     Byron  also  had  started  for  Geneva, 
and  she  hoped  to  meet  him  there  again.    The 
party  went  to  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre  at  Secheron, 
a  suburb  of  Geneva.     Byron  arrived  at  the  same 
hotel  on  May  25.     He  and  Shelley  had  never  met 
before  ;  but  Shelley  had  already  a  great  admiration 
of  his  poetry.     From  the  first  he  only  half  admired 
him  as  a  man.     "  Lord  Byron,"  he  wrote  to  Pea- 
cock at  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance,  "is 
an  exceedingly  interesting  person  ;    and,  as  such, 
is  it  not  to  be  regretted  that  he  is  a  slave  to  the 
vilest  and  most  vulgar  prejudices,  and  as  mad 
as  the  winds  ?  "    To  the  end  of  his  life  he  was 
half  fascinated  and  half  revolted  by  Byron,  just  as 
we  now  are  half  fascinated  and  half  revolted  by 
what  we  know  of  him.     Byron  and  Shelley  had 
this  much  in  common,  that  they  were  both  rebels 
and  outcasts,  and  also  this,  that  neither  of  them 
had  another  friend  so  nearly  equal  to  himself  in 
intellect  and  genius.     Shelley  had  never  met  a 
man  as  great  as  Byron,  and  Byron  had  never 
been  intimate  with  a  man  as  great  as  Shelley. 
They  could  talk  on  equal  terms,  with  the  cer- 

128 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

tainty  that  neither  would  be  too  dull  to  under- 
stand the  other.  Shelley  always  thought  too 
highly  of  Byron's  poetry  ;  and  Byron,  probably, 
always  thought  too  meanly  of  Shelley's  ;  but 
each  could  see  that  the  other  was  a  great  man. 
Byron  was  drawn  to  Shelley  because,  suspicious 
as  he  was,  he  could  trust  him  better  than  he  could 
trust  himself.  Other  men  might  seek  his  acquaint- 
ance because  he  was  the  most  famous  poet  in  the 
world  and  because  they  wanted  to  share  some  of 
his  notoriety  if  they  could  not  share  his  fame. 
Shelley,  he  knew,  wanted  to  get  nothing  from  him 
or  through  him.  He  said,  after  Shelley's  death, 
that  he  was  the  best  and  least  selfish  man  he  had 
ever  known ;  and  even  in  Shelley's  lifetime  he, 
the  most  capricious  and  slanderous  of  men,  seldom 
said  a  word  against  him.  The  two  poets  disagreed 
in  many  things.  Shelley's  opinions  were  as  con- 
stant as  Byron's  were  inconstant ;  and  often 
Byron  would  dispute  with  Shelley  for  the  fun  of 
it.  Shelley  was  always  in  earnest,  even  when  he 
would  have  been  wiser  to  trifle  ;  Byron  would 
trifle  or  pretend  to  trifle  over  the  most  serious 
matters.  Shelley's  nature  was  extraordinarily 
simple  ;  Byron's  extraordinarily  complex.  Shel- 
ley could  have  explained  the  purpose  of  his  life  on 
a  half-sheet  of  notepaper.  Byron  would  have 
sworn  that  his  life  had  no  purpose ;  he  was  an 
experimentalist  without  much  system  in  his 
experiments.  But  Shelley  seems  to  have  been 
born  with  a  consistent  set  of  opinions  ready 
9  129 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

made,  upon  which  experience  had  little  effect. 
Shelley  was  scarcely  conscious  of  his  body  at  all. 
He  conceived  of  himself  as  a  pure  spirit  and  sought 
everywhere  for  a  spirit  with  a  purpose  like  his 
own  through  all  the  irrelevant  matter  of  the 
world.  Byron  was  perfectly  conscious  of  his  body 
and  would  often  let  the  flesh  master  him,  using 
his  mind  only  to  heighten  its  pleasures  and  living 
like  a  sophisticated  animal.  Like  most  great 
men  who  are  at  war  with  themselves,  he  showed 
the  fullness  of  his  powers  in  a  war  with  what  he 
hated  outside  himself.  The  thwarted  and  embit- 
tered nobility  of  his  mind  expressed  itself  in 
invective.  He  would  not  trust  himself,  like 
Shelley,  to  spin  dreams  of  what  men  ought  to 
be  ;  yet  there  was  an  ideal  implied  in  his  indig- 
nation against  them  for  what  they  were.  And 
Shelley  saw  this  and  forgave  and  admired  him 
for  it.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Byron,  if  he  laughed 
sometimes  at  the  angels,  was  always  against  the 
devils,  and  never  the  willing  slave  of  the  evil  prin- 
ciple which  he  thought  of  as  tyrannizing  over 
man.  Shelley  was  very  like  those  ecclesiastics 
to  whom  heresy  is  the  sin  of  the  devil  and  far  less 
pardonable  than  all  the  sins  of  the  flesh.  He 
considered  that  Wordsworth  had  fallen  into 
heresy  and  called  him  a  pitiful  wretch.  Byron 
might  talk  wildly,  but  he  did  not  support  Tory 
candidates  for  parliament.  He  might  sometimes 
even  seem  to  have  a  leaning  to  superstition ; 
but  that  was  a  mere  weakness  of  the  flesh,  like 

130 


THE  DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

his  vulgar  amours.  He  was  not  for  the  Church  of 
England  and  the  British  Constitution  at  all  costs. 
He  always  hated  Castlereagh  as  well  as  Shelley 
himself,  and  was  far  happier  in  his  abuse  of  him. 
Shelley  and  Byron  soon  became  intimate,  and 
shared  a  boat  together  in  which  they  spent  many 
evenings  on  the  lake.  The  Shelleys  and  Claire 
moved  to  a  cottage  about  two  miles  from  Geneva, 
and  Byron  went  to  the  villa  Diodati  close  by. 
In  June  they  made  a  voyage  round  the  lake,  in 
the  course  of  which  Byron  wrote  the  "  Prisoner 
of  Chillon."  Soon  after  the  voyage  was  over 
Shelley  began  to  pine  for  home.  Though  always 
restless  he  was  always  desiring  a  fixed  abode, 
and  hoping  to  find  a  home  where  he  could  live 
for  ever.  Peacock  gives  a  material  explanation 
of  his  restlessness.  In  his  own  house,  wherever 
it  was,  he  says,  Shelley  was  always  a  vegetarian, 
and  fell  out  of  health  in  consequence.  When 
he  travelled  he  would  eat  meat  for  convenience, 
and  imputed  his  better  health  and  spirits,  not  to 
the  meat,  but  to  the  travelling.  At  one  moment  he 
wrote  to  Peacock  with  delight  of  "  the  hissing  of 
kettles,  the  long  talks  over  the  past  and  dead, 
the  laugh  of  children,  the  warm  winds  of  summer 
filling  the  quiet  house,  and  the  pelting  storm  of 
winter  struggling  in  vain  for  entrance."  At 
another  he  formed  adventurous  projects  of  de- 
scending the  Danube  in  a  boat,  of  visiting  Con- 
stantinople and  Athens,  then  Rome  and  the 
Tuscan   cities,   and  returning   by   the   South   of 

131 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

France,  always  following  great  rivers  ;  the  Danube, 
the  Po,  the  Rhine,  and  the  Garonne.  Meanwhile 
he  went  with  Mary  and  Claire  to  Chamouni,  as 
a  result  of  which  he  wrote  his  poem  "  Mont 
Blanc,"  and  collected  seeds  of  rare  Alpine  plants 
to  grow  in  an  English  garden.  But  the  culture 
of  Alpine  plants  was  not  understood  then,  and 
Shelley,  so  far  as  I  know,  did  not  become  the  first 
English  rock-gardener.  He  called  his  poem  on 
Mont  Blanc  an  undisciplined  overflowing  of  the 
soul ;  and  this  is  a  just  description  of  it.  The 
ideas  fade  into  each  other  too  fast  for  the  reader 
to  grasp  them.  The  poet's  imagination  is  still 
vague  and  wandering,  and  his  purpose  is  not  yet 
clear  even  to  himself.  He  is  under  the  influence 
of  Wordsworth  ;  the  opening  is  like  a  noble  passage 
of  Wordsworth,  but  it  has  not  his  imaginative 
precision.  Shelley  seems  to  be  taking  a  flying  shot 
at  a  fine  idea  and  we  cannot  be  quite  sure  whether 
he  has  hit  or  missed  it. 

"  The  everlasting  universe  of  things 
Flows  through  the  mind,  and  rolls  its  rapid  waves, 
Now  dark — now  glittering — now  reflecting  gloom — 
Now  lending  splendour,  where  from  secret  springs 
The  source  of  human  thought  its  tribute  brings 
Of  waters, — with  a  sound  but  half  its  own, 
Such  as  a  feeble  brook  will  oft  assume 
In  the  wild  woods,  among  the  mountains  lone, 
Where  waterfalls  around  it  leap  for  ever, 
Where  woods  and  winds  contend,  and  a  vast  river 
Over  its  rocks  ceaselessly  bursts  and  raves." 

Shelley  was  not  yet  the  myth-maker  he  after- 
wards became,  when  clouds  and  the  sun  and  wind 

132 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

and  stars  were  living  things  to  him,  and  he  could 
write  of  them  as  other  poets  write  of  men  and 
women.  He  was  still  inciting  his  imagination 
with  metaphysics,  and  not  quite  sure  whether 
the  wonders  of  the  earth  and  sky  were  interesting 
for  their  own  sake  or  for  what  the  human  mind 
put  into  them. 

He  was  metaphysical  also  in  the  "  Hymn  to 
Intellectual  Beauty  "  which  was  written  about 
this  time,  and  from  which  I  have  already  quoted 
an  autobiographical  passage.  In  this  poem  he 
tries  to  explain  the  universe  and  himself  to  himself. 
It  is  a  philosophic  confession  of  faith,  a  little 
too  vague  and  abstract,  in  spite  of  its  eloquence, 
to  be  a  masterpiece  of  poetry. 

The  blank  verse  poem  called  "The  Sunset," 
which  was  written  before  he  left  England,  is  remark- 
able for  a  detailed  passage  of  description  : — 

"  He  walked  along  the  pathway  of  a  field 
Which  to  the  east  a  hoar  wood  shadowed  o'er, 
But  to  the  west  was  open  to  the  sky. 
There  now  the  sun  had  sunk,  but  lines  of  gold 
Hung  on  the  ashen  clouds,  and  on  the  points 
Of  the  far  level  grass  and  nodding  flowers 
And  the  old  dandelion's  hoary  beard, 
And,  mingled  with  the  shades  of  twilight,  lay 
On  the  brown  massy  woods — And  in  the  east 
The  broad  and  burning  moon  lingeringly  rose 
Between  the  black  trunks  of  the  crowded  trees, 
While  the  faint  stars  were  gathering  overhead." 

This  is  a  study  in  the  manner  of  Coleridge  and 
was  probably  written  as  an  exercise  in  observa- 
tion and  expression.     William  Morris  said,  rather 

133 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

hastily,  that  Shelley  had  no  eyes.  He  certainly 
took  little  pleasure  as  a  rule  in  minute  observation. 
Yet  his  impressions  of  nature  are  often  vivid. 
He  seems  to  have  taken  them  in  with  all  his 
senses,  not  with  the  eye  alone  ;  and  to  have  felt 
a  life  in  things  beyond  what  his  senses  could  dis- 
cover to  him.  And  this  life  he  reveals  to  us 
not  only  in  the  sense  of  his  words,  but  in  the  very 
music  of  his  verse,  just  as  Beethoven  reveals  it  in 
his  "  Pastoral  Symphony." 

Besides  the  poems  I  have  mentioned  Shelley 
wrote  but  little  verse  in  1816.  Indeed  it  was 
his  most  barren  year  since  he  had  begun  to  write 
real  poetry,  and  he  never  knew  a  year  so  barren 
again.  But  it  was  remarkable  for  the  production 
of  Mary's  "  Frankenstein,"  a  work  that  got  more 
immediate  fame  than  any  poem  of  her  husband's, 
and  is  still  remembered  for  its  title  and  its  monster 
even  if  it  is  not  often  read.  It  was  the  result 
of  a  conversation  about  ghosts  and  horrors  after 
which  Shelley  suddenly  ran  shrieking  out  of  the 
room.  He  said  that  he  was  looking  at  Mary  and 
thought  of  a  woman  he  had  heard  of  who  had 
eyes  instead  of  nipples  to  her  breasts.  This  took 
possession  of  his  mind  and  horrified  him.  When 
he  was  recovered  Byron  proposed  that  each  of 
the  party  should  write  a  ghost  story.  Shelley  kept 
pressing  Mary  to  do  this,  and  at  last  one  night  she 
hit  upon  the  idea  of  Frankenstein  and  his  Monster. 

The   Shelleys  and  Claire   started  for  England 
on  August  28  and  reached  Portsmouth  on  Septem- 

134 


THE  DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

ber  g.  Thence  Shelley  went  to  London  to  do 
business  and  find  a  house  in  the  country,  and  Mary 
went  with  her  children  and  Claire  to  Bath.  At  some 
time,  probably  on  the  journey  home,  the  Shelley s 
had  discovered  that  Claire  was  with  child  by 
Byron.  They  were  not  indignant  at  Byron's  con- 
duct. Probably,  as  Professor  Dowden  suggests, 
they  supposed  that  Byron  loved  her.  They  were 
soon  to  find  that  he  disliked  her  and  had  treated 
her  as  a  mere  instrument  of  his  pleasure.  Perhaps 
Shelley  felt  that  his  conduct  and  doctrines  were 
responsible  to  some  extent  for  Claire's  seduction. 
He  certainly  was  as  kind  a  friend  to  her  as  any 
woman  ever  had  ;  and,  though  Mary  sometimes 
thought  him  more  affectionate  than  he  need  be, 
there  is  no  reason  to  believe  a  word  of  the  scandals 
that  were  spread  about  them. 

Claire  wished  to  conceal  her  pregnancy  from  God- 
win and  her  mother.  At  Bath  she  was  known  as 
Mrs.  Clairmont,  and  soon  Shelley,  after  staying 
with  Peacock  at  Marlow,  also  came  to  Bath.  In 
October  they  were  horrified  by  the  suicide  of 
Fanny  Imlay,  the  half-sister  of  Mary,  which  was 
probably  the  result  of  melancholia  and  not  of 
love  for  Shelley,  as  Mrs.  Godwin  asserted.  Mrs. 
Godwin,  not  unnaturally,  disliked  Shelley,  and 
was  apt  to  impute  all  calamities  to  him.  He 
tried  to  be  civil  to  her ;  but  said  that  when  he 
was  obliged  to  dine  with  her  he  would  "  lean  back 
in  his  chair  and  languish  into  hate  "  ;  so  that  she 
probably  saw  some  artifice  in  his  civilities. 

135 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

While  Shelley  was  at  Bath  his  "  Alastor  "  was 
reviewed  by  Leigh  Hunt  in  the  Examiner,  together 
with  poems  by  Keats  and  John  Hamilton  Rey- 
nolds. Hunt  called  Shelley  a  very  striking  and 
original  thinker.  They  had  met  before,  but  now 
they  became  friends.  Hunt  was  not  a  trustworthy 
critic,  but  if  he  sometimes  took  geese  for  swans 
he  seldom  fell  into  the  far  worse  error  of  taking 
swans  for  geese.  He  saw  that  Keats  and  Shelley 
were  great  poets,  when  scarcely  anyone  else  had  the 
wit  to  see  this.  He  was  justly  reproached  with 
being  the  head  of  the  Cockney  school,  for  he  wrote 
about  the  country  as  if  he  had  just  discovered 
it  in  a  day's  outing  ;  and  no  doubt  he  encouraged 
Keats  in  his  early  Cockneyfications.  But  Keats 
outgrew  these  and  Shelley  never  caught  them. 
He  was  used  to  the  country  from  childhood  and 
was  too  full  of  high  purposes  to  babble  of  green 
fields.  Indeed  his  defect  was  the  other  way.  His 
purpose  was  apt  to  make  him  impatient  of  detail, 
and  his  earlier  poetry  is  empty  where  Keats's 
is  clogged.  He  learned  nothing  either  good  or 
bad  from  Leigh  Hunt,  and  never  had  any  connec- 
tion with  the  Cockney  school.  He  was  drawn  to 
Leigh  Hunt  mainly  because  Hunt  was  a  liberal  and 
a  great  enemy  of  injustice  and  prejudice.  Unfor- 
tunately Hunt,  like  Godwin  and  other  reformers 
whom  Shelley  admired,  was  constantly  in  want 
of  money,  and  had  no  idea  what  to  do  with  it 
when  he  got  it.  He  got  a  good  deal  out  of  Shelley  ; 
but  Shelley  always  gave  so  delicately  and  patiently 

136 


THE  DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

that  his  debtors  never  became  his  enemies,  and  he 
was  an  eager  benefactor  of  Hunt  to  the  end  of  his 
life.  In  December,  1816,  he  went  to  stay  with 
Hunt  at  Hampstead.  When  he  returned  to 
Bath  he  received,  on  December  15,  a  letter  from 
Hookham  the  publisher,  telling  him  that  Harriet 
had  drowned  herself  in  the  Serpentine.  We  do 
not  know  when  Shelley  had  last  seen  Harriet  or 
heard  from  her.  She  had  been  corresponding 
with  Peacock  at  the  end  of  June,  and  seems  then 
to  have  been  in  want  of  money,  although  she  had 
£400  a  year.  In  November  Shelley  was  trying  to 
find  her  and  without  success.  She  was  living 
with  her  father  and  sister  until  a  short  time  before 
her  death  ;  but  she  is  said  to  have  become  the 
mistress  of  some  man  who  deserted  her,  and  to 
have  been  turned  out  of  her  father's  home.  She 
certainly  left  it  and  went  to  live  in  Queen  Street, 
Brompton,  while  her  children  were  sent  to  a 
clergyman  in  Warwick.  On  the  night  of  Novem- 
ber 9,  when  she  had  been  a  very  short  time  in  her 
new  home,  she  went  out  and  drowned  herself 
in  the  Serpentine.  Her  body  was  not  found  until 
December  10. 

We  know  very  little  of  her  history  after  Shelley 
had  left  her,  so  little  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
speculate  about  it.  We  cannot  say  how  far 
Shelley  was  responsible  for  her  suicide,  or  how 
far  it  was  her  own  fault.  The  fact  that  she  was 
always  talking  about  suicide,  even  in  her  happiest 
days,  makes  it  possible  that  she  may  have  drowned 

137 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

herself  without  first  suffering  any  very  great  agony 
of  mind.  But  Shelley  was  certainly  too  ready 
to  absolve  himself  of  any  responsibility  for  her 
death.  He  went  up  to  London  as  soon  as  he  heard 
of  it  and  from  thence  wrote  a  letter  to  Mary 
which  contained  the  following  passages : — 

"  I  have  spent  a  day,  my  beloved,  of  somewhat 
agonising  sensations,  such  as  the  contemplation  of 
vice  and  folly  and  hard-heartedness,  exceeding  all 
conception,  must  produce.  Leigh  Hunt  has  been 
with  me  all  day,  and  his  delicate  and  tender 
attentions  to  me,  his  kind  speeches  of  you,  have 
sustained  me  against  the  weight  of  the  horror  of 
this  event. 

"  The  children  I  have  not  got.  I  have  seen 
Longdill,  who  recommends  proceeding  with  the 
utmost  caution  and  resoluteness.  He  seems 
interested.  I  told  him  I  was  under  contract  of 
marriage  to  you,  and  he  said  that,  in  such  event, 
all  pretence  to  detain  the  children  would  cease. 
Hunt  said  very  delicately  that  this  would  be 
soothing  intelligence  to  you.  Yes,  my  only  hope, 
my  darling  love,  this  will  be  one  among  the  in- 
numerable benefits  which  you  will  have  bestowed 
upon  me,  and  which  will  still  be  inferior  in  value 
to  the  greatest  of  benefits — yourself.  It  is  through 
you  that  I  can  entertain  without  despair  the 
recollection  of  the  horrors  of  unutterable  villainy 
that  led  to  this  dark,  dreadful  death.  .  .  .  Every- 
thing tends  to  prove,  however,  that  beyond  the 
shock  of  so  hideous  a  catastrophe  having  fallen 

138 


THE   DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

on  a  human  being  once  so  nearly  connected  with 
me,  there  would  in  any  case  have  been  little  to 
regret.  Hookham,  Longdill,  every  one  does  me 
full  justice  ;  bears  testimony  to  the  upright  spirit 
and  liberality  of  my  conduct  to  her.  There  is 
but  one  voice  in  condemnation  of  the  detestable 
Westbrooks.  If  they  should  dare  to  bring  it 
before  Chancery  a  scene  of  such  fearful  horror 
would  be  unfolded  as  would  cover  them  with 
scorn  and  shame.  .  .  .  Remember  my  poor  babes, 
Ianthe  and  Charles.  How  tender  and  dear  a 
mother  they  will  find  in  you — darling  William, 
too!  My  eyes  overflow  with  tears.  To-morrow 
I  will  write  again." 

Thus  it  appears  that  Shelley  had  made  up  his 
mind  very  quickly  and  easily  that  the  Westbrooks 
were  altogether  responsible  for  Harriet's  death. 
How  far  they  were  we  cannot  tell ;  but  in  the 
Chancery  suit  for  the  possession  of  the  children, 
which  ensued,  they  were  not  covered  with  scorn 
and  shame,  as  he  confidently  foretold  ;  indeed 
nothing  seems  to  have  come  out  to  their  discredit. 
Eliza  Westbrook  in  an  affidavit  referred  to  a 
letter  which  Shelley  wrote  to  her  after  Harriet's 
death  in  which  he  spoke  of  Mary  as  the  lady  whose 
union  with  him  she,  Eliza,  might  excusably  regard 
as  the  cause  of  her  sister's  ruin.  He  would  scarcely 
have  written  thus  if  he  had  felt  sure  that  Eliza 
herself  and  her  father  were  the  villains  he  made 
them  out  to  be  in  this  letter ;  yet  there  is  no 
doubt  that  he  was  deeply  moved  by   Harriet's 

139 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

death.  The  shock  of  it,  like  the  shock  of  a  railway 
accident,  took  time  to  show  all  its  effects.  Pea- 
cock and  Leigh  Hunt  were  sure  that  he  suffered 
from  it  greatly.  There  are  poems  and  snatches  of 
poetry,  written  in  1816  and  1817,  and  even  later, 
that  seem  to  be  wild  with  the  horror  of  death. 
The  first  of  these,  of  uncertain  date,  seems  to 
refer  directly  to  Harriet : — 

"  The  moon  made  thy  lips  pale,  beloved — 

The  wind  made  thy  bosom  chill — 

The  night  did  shed  on  thy  dear  head 

Its  frozen  dew,  and  thou  didst  lie 

Where  the  bitter  breath  of  the  naked  sky 

Might  visit  thee  at  will." 

Here  is  another,  dated  by  Mrs.  Shelley  November 
5,  1817  :— 

"  That  time  is  dead  for  ever,  child  ! 
Drowned,  frozen,  dead  for  ever  ! 

We  look  on  the  past 

And  stare  aghast 
At  the  spectres  wailing,  pale  and  ghast, 
Of  hopes  which  thou  and  I  beguiled 

To  death  on  life's  dark  river." 

This  is  more  vague,  but  it  seems  to  be  full  of 
half-formed  thoughts  of  Harriet  and  her  end. 
Again,  there  is  this  verse  from  a  poem  called 
"The  Past,"  and  written  in  1818  : — 

"  Forget  the  dead,  the  past  ?     Oh,  yet 
There  are  ghosts  that  may  take  revenge  for  it, 
Memories  that  make  the  heart  a  tomb, 
Regrets  which  glide  through  the  spirit's  gloom, 

And  with  ghastly  whispers  tell 

That  joy,  once  lost,  is  pain." 

140 


THE   DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

Other  poems  and  passages  of  poetry  go  to 
prove  that  from  this  time  forward  Shelley's  mind 
was  haunted  by  ghosts  as  it  never  had  been  before, 
and  subject  to  a  real  pain  which  made  him  think 
of  his  old  imaginary  pains  as  disguised  pleasures. 
This  was  the  end  of  his  confident,  unknowing 
youth.  In  his  heart  of  hearts  he  could  no  longer 
think  of  himself  as  an  innocent  being  free  to 
make  his  own  Paradise.  The  past  had  hold  of 
him,  and  would  not  let  him  do  what  he  would  with 
the  present  or  the  future.  He  was  not,  like  some 
men,  burdened  by  a  sense  of  his  own  sin  or  inces- 
santly troubled  by  a  desire  to  expiate  it.  He 
never  had  that  kind  of  religion  which  makes  a 
man  feel  that  he  is  in  debt,  for  his  own  misdoings, 
to  the  holy  Author  of  life.  His  religion  was 
concerned,  like  the  religion  of  Crashaw,  only 
with  visions  of  a  heaven  which  seemed  to  him  to 
be  his  due,  since  he  had  conceived  it.  The  religious 
passion  in  him  was  imperfect  because  it  took  no 
account  of  evil  in  himself,  and  only  revolted 
against  evil  in  others  as  an  inexplicable  perversity. 
Like  Lucifer,  son  of  the  morning,  he  would  not 
disown  himself.  What  he  had  been  he  still  was 
and  had  a  right  to  be. 

Shelley  had  a  strong  desire  to  be  a  father  at 
last  to  his  children  by  Harriet.  But  the  West- 
brooks  contested  his  right  to  them  ;  and  mean- 
while he  determined  to  prove  his  faithfulness  to 
Mary  by  an  immediate  marriage.  They  were 
married  in  London  on  December  30,  1816,  after  a 

141 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

reconciliation  with  Godwin.  Shelley,  writing  to 
Claire,  speaks  of  "  the  ceremony  so  magical  in  its 
effects,"  and  says  that  Godwin  has  shown  the  most 
polished  and  courteous  attentions  to  himself  and 
to  Mary. 

The  children  were  in  the  care  of  a  clergyman 
at  Warwick.  In  January  they  filed,  through 
their  grandfather,  John  Westbrook,  a  bill  of 
complaint  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  Lord  Eldon, 
in  which  they  stated  that  Shelley  had  deserted 
his  wife  to  cohabit  with  Mary,  and  that  ever 
since  the  desertion  they  had  been  in  the  custody 
of  John  and  Eliza  Westbrook ;  also  that  Shelley 
avowed  himself  an  atheist,  and  in  "  Queen  Mab  ' 
and  other  works  had  expressed  his  atheism  blas- 
phemously. They  asked  for  an  injunction  against 
Shelley  that  he  might  not  take  possession  of  them, 
and  that  they  might  be  placed  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

Shelley  in  his  answer  stated,  among  other  things, 
that  Harriet  and  he  had  separated  by  mutual 
consent,  and  that  he  had  not  deserted  her ;  that 
he  was  very  anxious  to  have  the  children  under 
his  own  care,  but  left  them  with  his  wife  at  her 
urgent  entreaty ;  and  that,  if  since  her  death 
they  had  been  under  the  protection  of  John  West- 
brook and  Eliza,  it  was  not  with  his  consent. 

The  case  was  argued  at  great  length,  and  Lord 
Eldon  gave  his  judgment,  on  March  27,  against 
Shelley,  on  the  grounds  both  of  his  opinions  and 
of  his  conduct.     He  granted  an  injunction  and 

142 


THE  DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

ordered  a  Master  in  Chancery  to  consider  the 
question  of  the  children's  maintenance  and 
education,  and  to  suggest  a  suitable  person  to  take 
care  of  them.  There  was  some  wrangling  about 
this  matter ;  but  it  was  finally  determined  that 
they  should  be  committed  to  the  care  of  a  Dr. 
Hume,  of  Hanwell,  and  that  Shelley  and  the 
Westbrooks  might  visit  them  twelve  times  in  the 
year. 

The  judgment  filled  Shelley  with  grief,  appre- 
hension and  rage.  His  children  were  was  good  as 
dead  to  him  ;  and  he  had  fears,  which  proved 
baseless,  that  his  child  by  Mary  would  also  be 
taken  from  him,  and  that  he  himself  would  be 
prosecuted  for  atheism  and  blasphemy.  He 
expressed  his  rage  fiercely  enough  in  a  poem  of 
sixteen  stanzas,  addressed  to  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
whom  he  hated  for  his  opinions  as  well  as  for  his 
judgment  in  this  particular  case  : — 

"  By  thy  complicity  with  lust  and  hate, 
Thy  thirst  for  tears— thy  hunger  after  gold  ; 
The  ready  frauds  which  ever  on  thee  wait, 
The  servile  arts  in  which  thou  art  grown  old. 

By  all  the  hate  which  checks  a  father's  love, 
By  all  the  scorn  which  kills  a  father's  care — 
By  those  most  impious  hands  which  dared  remove 
Nature's  high  bonds — by  thee — and  by  despair — 

Yes,  the  despair  which  bids  a  father  groan, 
And  cry,  'My  children  are  no  longer  mine — 
The  blood  within  those  veins  may  be  mine  own, 
But,  tyrant,  their  polluted  souls  are  thine  ;  — ' 

143 


SHELLEY:    THE   MAN  AND   THE   POET 

I  curse  thee — though  I  hate  thee  not — O  slave  ! 
If  thou  could'st  quench  the  earth-consuming  Hell 
Of  which  thou  art  a  daemon,  on  thy  grave 
This  curse  should  be  a  blessing.     Fare  thee  well !  " 

On  January  12,  1817,  Claire  was  delivered  of 
a  daughter,  afterwards  called  Allegra.  While 
Shelley  was  in  London,  occupied  with  his  case, 
he  made  many  new  acquaintances  and  among 
them  Keats.  Shelley  and  Keats  never  became 
great  friends.  They  were  very  different  in  genius 
and  character ;  and  Keats,  a  man  of  humble 
birth  and  resolute  independence,  was  anxious  not 
to  be  thought  a  parasite  of  Shelley.  He  knew 
that  Shelley  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  money  to 
his  poorer  friends,  and  he  wished  neither  to  be, 
nor  to  be  thought,  a  pensioner  of  any  man.  No 
one  could  think  less  of  distinctions  of  birth  than 
Shelley  ;  but  he  liked  his  friends  to  share  his 
enthusiasms,  and  often  chose  them  rather  recklessly 
because  they  were  of  his  own  way  of  thinking. 
Keats  was  not.  At  this  time  of  his  short  life  he 
was  almost  narrow  in  his  devotion  to  his  art. 
Rightly  and  necessarily  he  was  passing  through  a 
stage  of  growth  in  which  he  thought  nothing  in 
the  world  so  important  as  making  good  verses. 
Shelley  never  passed  through  that  stage  and  never 
was  a  pure  artist.  He  always  thought  more  of 
what  he  wanted  to  say  than  of  his  manner  of  saying 
it ;  and  he  advanced  in  his  art  more  through  the 
general  growth  of  his  mind,  the  increasing  clearness 
of  his  ideas  and  strength  of  his  emotions,   than 

144 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

through  any  deliberate  training.  It  was  always 
subject  that  impelled  him  to  write  poetry  ;  and 
he  was  always  more  or  less  at  the  mercy  of  his 
subject.  When  it  mastered  him  he  produced  a 
masterpiece.  When  it  did  not  he  became  vague 
and  irrelevant.  Keats  at  this  time  was  casting 
about  for  subjects  that  he  might  exercise  his  art 
upon  them.  "Endymion"  is  a  mass  of  irrele- 
vancies  ;  but  these  are  often  its  greatest  beauties. 
Shelley  is  usually  at  his  worst  when  irrelevant. 
Thus  the  two  poets  did  not  understand  each 
other.  Keats  thought  that  Shelley  was  not 
enough  of  an  artist,  that  he  composed  too  hastily 
to  learn  much  from  the  exercise  of  composition. 
"  An  artist,"  he  wrote  to  Shelley  some  years  later, 
when  Shelley  had  sent  him  "The  Cenci,"  "must 
serve  mammon  ;  he  must  have  '  self-concentra- 
tion ' — selfishness,  perhaps.  You,  I  am  sure,  will 
forgive  me  for  sincerely  remarking  that  you  might 
curb  your  magnanimity,  and  be  more  of  an  artist, 
and  load  every  rift  of  your  subject  with  ore." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Shelley,  the  author  of 
"  Adonais,"  did  not  care  much  for  any  of  Keats's 
poetry  except  "  Hyperion."  "  His  other  poems," 
he  wrote  to  Peacock,  "  are  worth  little,"  and  though 
the  "  Hyperion  "  volume  contained  "  Lamia  "  and 
the  great  "Odes,"  he  said  that  but  for  "Hyperion," 
it  was  insignificant  enough.  He  seems  to  have 
thought  that  Keats  had  great  genius,  but  possessed 
a  wrong  method  of  "  system  and  mannerism." 

Shelley  also  met  Hazlitt,  who  did  not  like  him. 

145 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

He  seemed  to  Hazlitt  to  be  the  slave  of  generalities, 
and  by  them  blinded  to  all  the  diversity  and 
character  and  richness  of  life.  Hazlitt  despised 
him  as  a  kind  of  revolutionary  puritan,  for  whom 
ginger  was  never  hot  in  the  mouth  and  who  would 
clear  the  world  of  all  cakes  and  ale  ;  he  seems  to 
have  had  no  notion  of  Shelley's  genius.  There  is 
an  essay  on  ''Paradox  and  Common  Sense"  in 
his  "  Table-Talk,"  written  about  1821,  which  con- 
tains a  description  of  Shelley  far  more  damaging, 
because  nearer  to  the  truth,  than  the  hysterical 
abuse  of  the  Quarterly  Review. 

"  The  author  of  '  Prometheus  Unbound,'  "  he 
says,  "  has  a  fire  in  his  eye,  a  fever  in  his  blood,  a 
maggot  in  his  brain,  a  hectic  flutter  in  his  speech, 
which  mark  out  the  philosophic  fanatic.  He  is 
sanguine  complexioned  and  shrill  voiced.  As  is 
often  observable  in  the  case  of  religious  enthusiasts 
there  is  a  slenderness  of  constitutional  stamina 
which  renders  the  flesh  no  match  for  the  spirit. 
His  bending,  flexible  form  appears  to  take  no 
strong  hold  of  things,  does  not  grapple  with  the 
world  about  him,  but  slides  from  it  like  a  river — 

*  And  in  its  liquid  texture  mortal  wound 
Receives  no  more  than  can  the  fluid  air.' 

"  The  shock  of  accident,  the  weight  of  authority, 
make  no  impression  on  his  opinions,  which  retire 
like  a  feather,  or  rise  from  the  encounter  unhurt 
through  their  own  buoyancy.  He  is  clogged  by  no 
dull  system  of  realities,  no  earth-bound  feelings, 
no  rooted  prejudices,  by  nothing  that  belongs  to 

146 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

the  mighty  trunk  and  hard  husk  of  nature  and 
habit,  but  is  drawn  up  by  irresistible  levity  to  the 
regions  of  mere  speculation  and  fancy,  to  the 
sphere  of  air  and  fire,  where  his  delighted  spirit 
floats  in  '  seas  of  pearl  and  clouds  of  amber.' 
There  is  no  caput  mortuum  of  worn-out  thread- 
bare experience  to  serve  as  ballast  to  his  mind  ; 
it  is  all  volatile,  intellectual  salt-of-tartar,  that 
refuses  to  combine  its  evanescent,  inflammable 
essence  with  anything  solid  or  anything  lasting. 
Bubbles  are  to  him  the  only  realities  :  touch  them 
and  they  vanish.  Curiosity  is  the  only  proper 
category  of  his  mind,  and,  though  a  man  in  know- 
ledge, he  is  a  child  in  feeling.  Hence  he  puts 
everything  into  a  metaphysical  crucible  to  judge 
of  it  himself  and  exhibit  it  to  others  as  a  subject  of 
interesting  experiment,  without  first  making  it 
over  to  the  ordeal  of  his  common  sense  or  trying 
it  on  his  heart.  This  faculty  of  speculating  at 
random  on  all  questions  may  in  its  overgrown 
and  uninformed  state  do  much  mischief  without 
intending  it,  like  an  overgrown  child  with  the 
power  of  a  man.  Mr.  Shelley  has  been  accused 
of  vanity  ;  I  think  he  is  chargeable  with  extreme 
levity,  but  this  levity  is  so  great  that  I  do  not 
believe  he  is  sensible  of  its  consequences.  He 
strives  to  overturn  all  established  creeds  and 
systems  ;  but  this  is  in  him  an  effect  of  constitu- 
tion. He  runs  before  the  most  extravagant 
opinions ;  but  this  is  because  he  is  held  back  by 
none  of  the  merely  mechanical  checks  of  sympathy 

147 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  habit.  He  tampers  with  all  sorts  of  obnoxious 
subjects  ;  but  it  is  less  because  he  is  gratified 
with  the  rankness  of  the  taint  than  captivated 
with  the  intellectual  phosphoric  light  they  emit. 
It  would  seem  that  he  wishes  not  so  much  to 
convince  or  inform  as  to  shock  the  public  by  the 
tenor  of  his  productions  ;  but  I  suspect  he  is  more 
intent  upon  startling  himself  with  his  electrical 
experiments  in  morals  and  philosophy,  and  though 
they  may  scorch  other  people,  they  are  to  him 
harmless  amusements — the  coruscations  of  an 
Aurora  Borealis,  that  '  play  round  the  head  but 
do  not  reach  the  heart.'  Still,  I  could  wish  that 
he  would  put  a  stop  to  the  incessant,  alarming 
whirl  of  his  voltaic  battery.  With  his  zeal,  his 
talent,  and  his  fancy,  he  would  do  more  good  and 
less  harm  if  he  were  to  give  up  his  wilder  theories, 
and  if  he  took  less  pleasure  in  feeling  his  heart 
flutter  in  unison  with  the  panic-struck  appre- 
hensions of  his  readers." 

There  are  some  strange  errors  in  this  description. 
Shelley,  so  far  from  being  mastered  by  curiosity, 
had  so  little  that  his  genius  suffered  from  the  want 
of  it.  He  certainly  did  not  wish  to  experiment 
on  himself  or  the  world  to  see  what  would  come  of 
it.  The  danger  with  him  was  that  he  was  always 
too  sure  what  would  happen  if  he  had  his  way. 
He  may  have  talked  sometimes  to  shock.  Haydon, 
the  painter,  tells  us  that  he  once  began  a  conver- 
sation at  table  with  the  words,  "As  for  that 
detestable  religion,  the  Christian  " — but  he  was 

148 


THE  DEATH   OF  HARRIET 

usually  far  too  much  in  earnest  when  he  wrote 
to  think  of  shocking  people.  Nor  was  he  cap- 
tivated by  the  intellectual  phosphoric  light  of 
obnoxious  subjects.  He  was  indeed  one  of  the 
pure  to  whom  all  things  are  pure,  and  was  always 
as  free  from  any  kind  of  prurience,  even  intellec- 
tual, as  a  healthy  girl.  But,  these  mistakes  apart, 
the  description  would  seem  quite  just  to  anyone 
who  had  no  belief  in  the  reality  of  those  ideals 
upon  which  Shelley's  mind  was  set,  and  which  it 
was  the  main  purpose  of  his  poetry  to  express. 
If  there  is  no  reality  in  them,  no  glory  somewhere 
in  the  universe,  either  existing  or  to  be,  which 
Shelley  at  the  height  of  his  inspiration  did,  how- 
ever imperfectly,  comprehend  and  represent  to 
us,  then  indeed  the  better  part  of  his  life  was  only 
absurd  or  heroic  error,  and  the  most  extreme  beau- 
ties of  his  poetry  were  mere  caprices  of  fancy  with 
nothing  but  irrational  beauty  to  recommend  them. 
Thornton  Hunt,  the  son  of  Leigh  Hunt,  who 
was  a  child  at  this  time,  tells  a  touching  story 
of  Shelley's  anxiety  about  lis  Chancery  suit. 
Shelley  would  often  play  with  him,  and  once, 
teasing  him,  provoked  him  to  say  that  he  hoped 
that  he  would  lose  the  suit  and  have  his  children 
taken  from  him.  "  I  was  sitting  on  his  knee," 
says  Hunt,  "  and  as  I  spoke  he  let  himself  fall 
listlessly  back  in  his  chair,  without  attempting  to 
conceal  the  shock  I  had  given  him.  But  presently 
he  folded  his  arms  round  me  and  kissed  me  ;  and  I 
perfectly  understood  that  he  saw  how  sorry  I  was, 

149 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  was  as  anxious  as  I  was  to  be  friends  again." 
Leigh  Hunt  has  a  story  of  how  Shelley  found  a 
sick  woman  in  the  snow  at  Hampstead  one  winter's 
night  and  carried  her  from  door  to  door,  being 
refused  admission  at  one  after  another.  At  last 
he  saw  a  carriage  drive  up  to  a  house  and  an 
elderly  man  get  out  of  it.  He  seized  his  oppor- 
tunity and  told  his  story,  but  the  man  refused  his 
help.  "  Impostors  swarm  everywhere,"  he  said, 
"  the  thing  cannot  be  done.  Sir,  your  conduct 
is  extraordinary."  "  Sir,"  answered  Shelley,  "  I 
am  sorry  to  say  that  your  conduct  is  extraordinary  ; 
and  if  my  own  seems  to  amaze  you,  I  will  tell  you 
something  which  may  amaze  you  a  little  more, 
and,  I  hope,  will  frighten  you.  It  is  such  men  as 
you  who  madden  the  spirits  and  the  patience  of 
the  poor  and  wretched  ;  and  if  ever  a  convulsion 
comes  in  this  country  (which  is  very  probable), 
recollect  what  I  tell  you.  You  will  have  your 
house,  that  you  refuse  to  put  this  miserable  woman 
into,  burnt  over  your  head."  The  man  only 
exclaimed,  "  God  bless  me,  sir ;  dear  me,  sir," 
and  hurried  into  his  house.  Hunt  gave  the  poor 
woman  shelter ;  and  he  and  Shelley  tended  her, 
with  the  help  of  a  doctor,  so  that  she  recovered. 
In  February,  1817,  the  Shelleys  went  to  live  at 
Marlow,  taking  a  house  of  some  size  called  Albion 
House.  Claire,  with  her  child,  came  to  live  with 
them.  The  child,  which  at  present  was  called 
Alba,  was  given  out  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  friend 
in  London,  and  Claire  became  once  more  Miss 

150 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

Clairmont.  The  summer  of  1817  was  hot,  and 
Shelley's  health  prospered.  He  would  often  walk 
from  Marlow  to  London  with  Peacock,  thirty-two 
miles  in  a  day,  and  without  seeming  tired  at  the 
end.  "  Delicate  and  fragile  as  he  appeared," 
says  Peacock,  "he  had  great  muscular  strength." 
Professor  Dowden  quotes  a  description  of  him  at 
this  time  from  a  letter  written  by  a  Miss  Rose  to 
Lady  Shelley.  "  He  was  the  most  interesting  figure 
I  ever  saw  ;  his  eyes  like  a  deer's,  bright  but  rather 
wild ;  his  white  throat  unfettered  ;  his  slender, 
but  to  me  almost  faultless  shape  ;  his  brown  long 
coat  with  curling  lambs'  wool  collar  and  cuffs,  in 
fact  his  whole  appearance,  are  as  fresh  in  my 
recollection  as  an  occurrence  of  yesterday.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  he  was  rather  fantastically  arrayed. 
On  his  head  would  be  a  wreath  of  what  in  Marlow 
we  call  '  Old  man's  Beard '  and  wild  flowers 
intermixed ;  at  these  times  he  seemed  quite 
absorbed,  and  he  dashed  along  regardless  of  all 
he  met  or  passed."  He  must  have  looked  like 
Dionysus — not  in  his  revels,  but  when  wandering 
alone  among  the  mountains  in  a  spiritual  rapture 
not  induced  by  wine.  We  are  reminded  of  his 
own  description  of  himself  in  "  Adonais  "  : — 

"  His  head  was  bound  with  pansies  overblown, 
And  faded  violets,  white,  and  pied,  and  blue  ; 

And  a  light  spear,  topped  with  a  cypress  cone, 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy  tresses  grew 
Yet  dripping  with  the  fresh  noonday  dew, 

Vibrated,  as  the  ever-beating  heart 

Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasped  it " 

151 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

It  is  natural  to  think  of  flowers  in  connection 

with  him.    Three  different  writers,  in  describing 

him,  have  compared  him  to  a  flower  or  a  plant 

that — to    quote    again    from   his   description    of 

himself — 

"  Can  scarce  uplift 
The  weight  of  the  superincumbent  hour." 

Medwin  says  that  "  He  looked  like  an  elegant 
and  slender  flower  whose  head  drooped  from  being 
surcharged  with  rain."  A  writer  in  the  Edinburgh 
Review  (1824)  says  that  "  His  form,  graceful  and 
slender,  drooped  like  a  flower  in  the  breeze,"  and 
P.  G.  Patmore  spoke  of  his  figure  as  bending  to 
the  earth  "  like  a  plant  that  had  been  deprived  of 
its  natural  air,"  and  compared  him  to  a  flower 
that  has  been  kept  from  the  light  of  day. 

Towards  the  end  of  1817  Shelley  was  again  in 
poor  health.  In  September  he  went  to  see  a  doctor 
in  London,  and  the  doctor  recommended  rest  and 
change  of  air.  Shelley  was  eager  to  go  to  Italy, 
but  Mary  doubted  whether  they  could  afford  it, 
although  she  was  very  anxious  to  get  rid  of  Claire's 
child,  and  indeed  of  Claire,  if  that  were  possible  ; 
for  people  had  made  up  their  minds  that  the  child 
was  Claire's,  and  had  begun  to  wonder  whether 
Shelley  was  the  father  of  it.  Mary  was  delivered 
of  a  girl,  named  Clara,  on  September  2  ;  and  in  her 
weakness  she  was  troubled  with  many  anxieties 
while  Shelley  was  away  in  London. 

Shelley  had  vague  ideas  of  raising  money,  and 
talked  about  post-obits.     "  These  things,"  wrote 

152 


THE  DEATH  OF  HARRIET 

Mary,  "  as  you  well  know,  are  affairs  of  wonderful 
length,  and,  if  you  must  complete  one  before  you 
settle  on  going  to  Italy,  Alba's  departure  ought 
certainly  not  to  be  delayed."  "  You  have  adver- 
tised the  house,"  she  continues,  "but  have  you 
given  Madocks  any  orders  about  how  to  answer 
the  applicants  ?  And  have  you  yet  settled  for 
Italy  or  the  sea  ?  And  do  you  know  how  to  get 
money  to  convey  us  there,  and  to  buy  the  things 
that  will  be  absolutely  necessary  before  our 
departure  ?  " 

Shelley  replied  that  they  must  go  to  Italy  on 
every  ground.  He  has  borrowed  £250,  and  could 
get  £250  more  from  the  same  friend.  As  to  the 
house,  he  wrote,  "  Let  us  look  the  truth  boldly  in 
the  face.  We  gave,  we  will  say,  £1,200  for  the 
house.  Well,  we  can  get,  if  we  like,  £60  a  year 
for  the  bare  walls,  and  sell  the  furniture  so  as  to 
realise  £75  for  every  £100.  This  is  losing  scarcely 
anything,  especially  if  we  consider  it  in  fact  only 
so  much  money  borrowed  on  post-obits,  which  in 
fact  is  cheaper  than  ever  before."  This  does  not 
sound  very  reassuring  ;  but  luckily  Mary  was  not 
a  mistress  of  finance,  and  very  likely  she  was 
reassured.  At  any  rate  they  settled  to  go  to 
Italy,  though  they  did  not  start  until  March  n, 
1818. 


153 


CHAPTER     VIII 

"THE  REVOLT  OF  ISLAM"  AND  OTHER 

WORKS 

NO  doubt  Shelley's  bad  health  in  the  autumn 
of  1817  was  partly  caused  by  overwork, 
for  in  that  year  he  had  written  as  much  poetry  as 
would  take  ten  years  in  the  life  of  a  less  impetuous 
writer.  "The  Revolt  of  Islam"  was  begun  in 
April,  and  finished  on  September  23.  It  is  in 
twelve  cantos,  and  contains  nearly  five  thousand 
lines.  In  the  summer  Shelley  was  also  writing 
"  Rosalind  and  Helen,"  which  he  finished  in  Italy 
the  next  year.  In  the  autumn  and  winter  he 
produced  the  fragment  "  Prince  Athanase,"  but 
probably  revised  it  in  Italy.  "The  Revolt  of 
Islam "  was  published  on  January  10,  1818 ; 
"  Rosalind  and  Helen,"  with  the  "  Lines  written 
among  the  Euganean  Hills,"  in  1819  ;  and  "  Prince 
Athanase,"  in  the  "  Posthumous  Poems,"  in  1824. 
I  will  deal  with  all  three  works  now. 

"The  Revolt  of  Islam"  is  intended  to  be  a 
revolutionary  epic.  In  his  preface  to  it  Shelley 
proclaimed  his  moral  purpose.  He  sought,  he 
said,  "  to  enlist  the  harmony  of  metrical  language, 
the  ethereal  combinations  of  the  fancy,  the  rapid 

154 


"THE   REVOLT   OF  ISLAM" 

and  subtle  transitions  of  human  passion,  all  those 
elements  which  essentially  compose  a  poem,  in 
the  cause  of  a  liberal  and  comprehensive  morality." 
"  For  this  purpose,"  he  writes,  "  I  have  chosen  a 
story  of  human  passion,  in  its  most  universal 
character,  diversified  with  moving  and  romantic 
adventures,  and  appealing,  in  contempt  of  all 
artificial  opinions  or  institutions,  to  the  common 
sympathies  of  every  human  breast."  He  adds 
that  the  poem  is  narrative,  not  didactic ;  but 
proceeds  to  give  a  long  list  of  the  lessons  it  is 
designed  to  teach.  He  then  speaks  to  the  sources 
from  which  the  materials  for  the  imagery  of  the 
poem  have  been  drawn. 

"  I  have  trodden  the  glaciers  of  the  Alps,  and 
lived  under  the  eye  of  Mont  Blanc.  I  have  been 
a  wanderer  among  distant  fields.  I  have  sailed 
down  mighty  rivers,  and  seen  the  sun  rise  and 
set,  and  the  stars  come  forth,  whilst  I  have  sailed 
night  and  day  down  a  rapid  stream  among  moun- 
tains. I  have  seen  populous  cities,  and  have 
watched  the  passions,  which  rise  and  spread,  and 
sink  and  change,  amongst  assembled  multitudes 
of  men.  I  have  seen  the  theatre  of  the  more 
visible  ravages  of  tyranny  and  war  ;  cities  and 
villages  reduced  to  scattered  groups  of  black  and 
roofless  houses,  and  the  naked  inhabitants  sitting 
famished  upon  their  desolated  thresholds."  In 
this  preface  too  he  separates  himself  from  poets, 
like  Wordsworth,  who  seemed  to  him  too  quick 
despairers  of  the  future  of  man,  because  of  the 

155 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

disappointments  of  the  French  Revolution.  "  The 
panic  which,  like  an  epidemic  transport,  seized 
upon  all  classes  of  men  during  the  excesses  con- 
sequent upon  the  French  Revolution,  is  gradually- 
giving  place  to  sanity.  It  has  ceased  to  be  believed 
that  whole  generations  of  mankind  ought  to  consign 
themselves  to  a  hopeless  inheritance  of  ignorance 
and  misery,  because  a  nation  of  men  who  had  been 
dupes  and  slaves  for  centuries  were  incapable  of 
conducting  themselves  with  the  wisdom  and 
tranquillity  of  freemen  so  soon  as  some  of  their 
fetters  were  partially  loosened." 

When  he  wrote  this  Shelley  was  wiser  than 
Wordsworth,  who,  after  his  disappointment  over 
the  Revolution,  became  a  complete  reactionary  in 
politics.  But  then  Shelley  was  a  babe  in  arms 
during  the  Terror,  and  had  never  gone  through 
the  bitter  experience  of  Wordsworth. 

Mrs.  Shelley  tells  us  that  Shelley  composed  the 
poem  in  his  boat  as  it  floated  under  the  beech- 
groves  of  Bisham,  or  during  wanderings  in  the 
neighbouring  country.  It  is  written  in  Spenserian 
stanzas,  a  measure  which  Shelley  thought  inex- 
pressibly beautiful,  and  which  he  adopted  not 
because  he  considered  it  "  a  finer  model  of  poetical 
harmony  than  the  blank  verse  of  Shakespeare 
and  Milton,  but  because  in  the  latter  there  is  no 
shelter  for  mediocrity.' '  In  this  he  was  wise. 
The  poem  is  difficult  to  read  as  it  is ;  in  blank 
verse  it  would  probably  have  been  impossible. 
It  cannot  be  called  mediocre.     Only  a  man  of 

156 


"THE   REVOLT   OF   ISLAM" 

genius  could  have  written  it ;  but  Shelley  was 
not  born  a  story-teller,  and  he  had  not  taken  much 
pains  to  become  one.  The  characters  are  mere 
abstractions,  and  one  never  wonders  what  will 
happen  to  them. 

The  story  does  not  begin  until  the  second  canto. 
The  first  contains  an  account  of  a  fight  in  the  air 
between  an  eagle  and  a  snake,  at  the  end  of  which 
the  eagle  flies  away  and  the  snake  falls  into  the 
sea.  On  the  shore  there  sits  a  woman,  "  beautiful 
as  morning,"  who  speaks  to  the  wounded  snake 
in  its  own  tongue,  and  calls  it  to  her.  She  addresses 
the  narrator  and  asks  him  if  he  will  dare  to  go 
'  a  voyage  divine  and  strange  "  with  her  and  the 
serpent.  They  set  off  in  a  "  boat  of  rare  device." 
She  tells  him  that  the  eagle  is  the  spirit  of  evil 
who  had  changed  the  spirit  of  good  into  a  snake, 
and  had  then  afflicted  the  earth  with  all  its  evils. 
But  the  war  between  the  snake  and  the  eagle 
still  continues,   and — 

"  The  Victor  Fiend, 
Omnipotent  of  yore,  now  quails,  and  fears 
His  triumph  dearly  won,  which  soon  will  lend 
An  impulse  swift  and  sure  to  his  approaching  end." 

Then  she  tells  her  own  story.  How  she  had 
been  moved  by  the  French  Revolution  to  sweet 
madness,  and  how  in  a  dream  she  saw  a  winged 
youth,  who  told  her  that  a  spirit  loved  her,  and 
asked  her  how  she  would  prove  her  worth.  How 
she  went  to  Paris  and  "  braved  death  for  liberty 
and  truth,"  and  how  she  was  still  sustained  by  the 

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SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

spirit  when  her  ' '  hopes  had  lost  the  glory  of  their 
youth."  The  vessel  proceeds  swifter  and  swifter 
until  they  come  to  a  wonderful  temple,  ' '  girt  by 
green  isles."     There — 

"  Sate  on  many  a  sapphire  throne, 
The  great,  who  had  departed  from  mankind." 

The  woman  shrieks  and  vanishes,  and  there 
appears  upon  a  throne,  until  now  vacant,  a  form 
"  fairer  than  tongue  can  speak  or  thought  may 
frame."    Then  the  narrator  hears  a  voice — 

"  Thou  must  a  listener  be 
This  day — two  mighty  spirits  now  return, 

Like  birds  of  calm,  from  the  world's  raging  sea, 
They  pour  fresh  light  from  Hope's  immortal  urn  ; 
A  tale  of  human  power — despair  not — list  and  learn." 

Then  appear  Laon  and  Cythna,  the  hero  and 
heroine  of  the  poem. 

In  this  strange  introduction  Shelley  shows  an 
utter  contempt  or  ignorance  of  the  story-teller's 
art.  The  reader  is  perplexed  at  the  outset,  and 
his  patience  exhausted  before  the  hero  and  heroine 
appear.  Shelley  tries  to  make  a  myth  ;  but  its 
significance  is  lost  in  descriptions,  wonderful  but 
vague.  The  introduction  lacks  substance,  and 
there  is  the  same  fault  all  through  the  poem. 

Laon  was  born  ' '  in  Argolis  beside  the  echoing 
sea,"  and  there  fretted  against  the  tyranny  of  the 
Turk  and  resolved  to  destroy  it.  Cythna  was  an 
orphan  who  lived  with  his  parents,  his  sole  associate, 
and  the  sharer  of  his  hopes.     She  is  carried  away 

158 


"THE  REVOLT  OF   ISLAM" 

by  the  Turks,  and  Laon  kills  three  of  them.  He 
is  bound  to  a  column,  on  a  rock  above  the  town, 
and  there  left  to  die  of  thirst  and  hunger.  But  he 
is  delivered  by  a  hermit,  drawn  from  Shelley's 
early  friend,  Doctor  Lind,  and  taken  away  by 
sea  to  a  tower  of  stone,  where  he  remains  for 
seven  years  while  the  hermit  nurses  him  out  of 
madness.  Then  the  hermit  tells  him  that  "  the 
tyrants  in  the  Golden  City  tremble,"  for  a  maiden, 
who  is  of  course  Cythna,  walks  through  it  "  veiled 
in  virtue's  adamantine  eloquence,"  and  has  cast 
a  spell  over  slaves  and  tyrants  alike.  A  great 
host  has  assembled  in  the  plain  beneath  the  city's 
wall,  and  is  trying  to  persuade  the  tryant's  guards 
to  desert  him  with  words  of  human  love.  The  her- 
mit exhorts  Laon  to  go  among  them  and  uplift 
his  charmed  voice.  Laon  goes,  and  reaches  the 
plain  at  the  moment  when  the  guards  of  the 
tyrant  have  made  a  treacherous  attack  upon  the 
patriot  hosts.  All  is  confusion  ;  but,  at  the  cry 
of  Laon,  "  in  sudden  panic  those  false  murderers 
fled."     Laon,    with    his    eloquence,    prevents    a 

massacre — 

"  And  all 

Seemed  like  some  brothers  on  a  journey  wide 

Gone  forth,  whom  now  strange  meeting  did  befall 
In  a  strange  land,  round  one  whom  they  might  call 

Their  friend,  their  chief,  their  father." 

They  enter  the  city  amid  universal  joy  and  find 
the  fallen  tyrant,  who  is  spared  through  Laon's 
intercession  and  taken  to  "  a  home  for  his  repose 
assigned."     There  follows  a  great  festival  of  free- 

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SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

dom  round  a  vast  altar,  which  "  the  devotion  of 
millions  in  one  night  created."  Upon  an  ivory 
throne  sat  a  veiled  woman,  Cythna,  or,  as  she  was 
now  called,  Laone.  Here  we  should  expect  a 
joyful  meeting  between  her  and  Laon,  but  Shelley 
disappoints  us  of  it.  He  will  give  us  no  human 
interest ;  but  only  a  long  ode  from  Cythna  about 
freedom,  which,  in  spite  of  many  beauties,  cannot 
be  read  without  impatience,  especially  when 
Cythna,  after  beginning  a  stanza  magnificently, 
proceeds  to  preach  vegetarianism — 

"  My  brethren,  we  are  free.     The  fruits  are  glowing 
Beneath  the  stars,  and  the  night  winds  are  flowing 
O'er  the  ripe  corn,  the  birds  and  beasts  are  dreaming — 
Never  again  may  blood  of  bird  or  beast 
Stain  with  its  venomous  stream  a  human  feast, 
To  the  pure  skies  in  accusation  streaming." 

One  need  have  no  quarrel  with  vegetarians  to  see 
that  after  the  first  three  lines  it  falls  from  poetry 
to  rhetoric.  The  joy  of  the  people  does  not  last 
long.  That  very  night  the  tyrant  treacherously 
attacks  them.  Laon  and  a  band  of  brothers 
gathered  round  him  make  a  desperate  stand,  but 
all  are  killed  except  him,  and  he  is  overpowered  ; 
when  suddenly  a  black  Tartarian  horse  of  giant 
frame  comes  trampling  over  the  dead,  Cythna 
riding  it  and  waving  a  sword,  like  an  angel  robed 
in  white.  The  enemy  flee.  She  tells  Laon  to 
mount,  and  they  gallop  away  over  the  plain  and 
come  to  a  marble  ruin  on  a  mountain.  Cythna 
explains  her  intervention  thus — 

1 60 


"THE  REVOLT   OF   ISLAM" 

"  Friend,  thy  bands  were  losing 
The  battle,  as  I  stood  before  the  king 

In  bonds.     I  burst  them  thus,  and  swiftly  choosing 
The  time,  did  seize  a  Tartar's  sword,  and  spring 
Upon  his  horse,  and  swift  as  on  the  whirlwind's  wing, 

Have  thou  and  I  been  borne  beyond  pursuer, 
And  we  are  here." 

Where  all  is  improbable,  there  is  no  need  of 
explanations  that  only  heighten  improbability. 
Laon  and  Cythna  forget  public  disasters  in  love, 
and  Shelley  forgets  rhetoric  in  poetry — 

u  Was  it  one  moment  that  confounded  thus 

All  thought,  all  sense,  all  feeling,  into  one 
Unutterable  power,  which  shielded  us 

Even  from  our  own  cold  looks,  when  we  had  gone 

Into  a  wide  and  wild  oblivion 
Of  tumult  and  of  tenderness  ?    or  now 

Had  ages,  such  as  make  the  sun  and  moon, 
The  seasons,  and  mankind  their  changes  know, 
Left  fear  and  time  unfelt  by  us  alone  below  ?  " 

They  pass  two  days  without  eating,  and  then 
Laon  rides  away  in  search  of  food.  He  comes  to 
a  ravaged  village,  of  which  there  is  a  horrible 
description,  and  there  meets  a  madwoman  who 
shows  him  three  piles  of  loaves,  round  which  she 
had  set  in  state  a  ring  of  cold,  stiff  babes.  Laon 
takes  some  of  the  bread  back  to  Cythna,  and 
Cythna  then  tells  him  her  story  ;  how  she  had 
been  subject  to  the  violence  of  the  tyrant,  and 
then  taken  by  an  Aethiopian  diver  to  a  cave  over 
the  sea.  There  she  had  had  a  baby,  of  which 
Laon  seems  to  have  been  the  father,  and  which 
11  161 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

was  taken  away  by  the  diver.  Then  her  cave 
was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake,  and  she  rescued 
by  a  ship,  the  crew  of  which  were  engaged  in  kid- 
napping women  for  the  Turk.  Cythna  by  her 
eloquence  persuades  them  to  set  all  the  women 
free,  and  they  come  to  Constantinople,  where 
Cythna  walks  free  from  shame  or  fear,  encompassed 
by  the  toilworn  mariners  and  happy  maidens. 
She  then  preaches  freedom,  and  neither  priest- 
craft nor  bribery  avail  against  her.  The  rest 
Laon  knows. 

But  meanwhile  all  the  tyrants  of  the  earth  had 
gathered  to  help  their  brother  tyrant.  Famine 
and  plague  follow  massacre  ;  and  a  priest  says 
that  the  plague  will  not  be  stayed  until  a  huge 
altar  is  built  and  Laon  and  Cythna  burnt  upon 
it.  The  altar  is  prepared  and  a  great  reward 
offered  for  them.  A  stranger  appears  before  the 
tyrant's  throne,  and  says  that  he  will  betray 
Laon  if  only  Cythna  may  be  allowed  to  go  to 
America. 

"  Where,  though  with  rudest  rites,  Freedom  and  Truth 
Are  worshipped." 

Shelley  seems  to  have  forgotten  that  there  were 
slaves  in  the  United  States.  The  tyrant  and  the 
senate  agree  to  the  stranger's  terms,  and  he  tells 
them  that  he  is  Laon  himself.  He  is  placed  upon 
the  altar  to  be  burned,  when  suddenly  Cythna 
appears  upon  her  Tartarian  steed.  The  tyrant  has 
scruples  about  breaking  his  oath,  but  the  priest 

162 


u 


THE   REVOLT   OF   ISLAM" 


none  ;  so  Cythna  is  set  on  the  pyre  beside  Laon, 
and  they  perish  in  the  flames.  But  the  story 
does  not  end  here.  Shelley  carries  it  beyond  the 
grave,  so  that  he  may  the  more  completely  express 
his  dreams  of  a  more  perfect  state  of  being.  Laon 
and  Cythna  wake  reclining — 

"  On  the  waved  and  golden  sand 
Of  a  clear  pool,  upon  a  bank  o'ertwined 
With  strange  and  star-bright  flowers,  which  to  the  wind 
Breathed  divine  odour." 

A  boat  approaches  them  with  Cythna's  child  in 
it,  now  a  plumed  seraph.  They  are  all  carried 
in  the  "  divine  canoe  "  down  a  mighty  stream, 
"  between  a  chasm  of  cedarn  mountains  riven," 
for  three  days  and  nights  to  a  lake — 

"  Motionless  resting  on  the  lake  awhile, 

I  saw  its  marge  of  snow-bright  mountains  rear 

Their  peaks  aloft,  I  saw  each  radiant  isle, 
And  in  the  midst,  afar,  even  like  a  sphere 
Hung  in  one  hollow  sky,  did  there  appear 

The  temple  of  the  spirit ;    on  the  sound 

Which  issued  thence,  drawn  nearer  and  more  near, 

Like  the  swift  moon  this  glorious  earth  around, 

The  charmed  boat  approached,   and  there  its  haven 
found." 

So  the  poem  ends.  I  have  given  this  account 
of  its  story  because  none  of  my  readers  is  likely  to 
know  it,  and  because  in  its  very  absurdity  it  shows 
the  character  of  Shelley's  mind,  and  the  manner 
in  which  his  genius  developed.  "  The  Revolt  of 
Islam "   is  immature  in  everything  except   the 

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SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

versification.  Shelley  is  already  a  master  of  the 
Spenserian  stanza,  which  in  "The  Revolt  of 
Islam"  moves  more  swiftly  than  the  "Faerie 
Queene,"  and  has  a  richer  and  more  complicated 
music.  Whatever  he  wants  to  say  he  can  say 
already  with  ease,  and  in  the  language  proper  to 
poetry  ;  but  there  are  two  problems  in  the  art  of 
composition.  A  writer  must  not  only  be  able  to 
express  himself  ;  he  must  also  know  how  to  catch 
and  hold  the  attention  of  his  public.  Shelley 
wrote  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "  only  to  express 
himself,  and  without  any  thought  of  his  public, 
for  he  had  none.  Throughout  his  life  he  suffered 
from  the  lack  of  that  training  which  an  artist  can 
only  get  from  addressing  a  public  competent  to 
judge  of  his  art. 

It  has  been  said  that  Shelley's  poetry  is  too 
poetical,  and  certainly  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  " 
is  too  poetical  for  a  narrative  poem ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  story  is  smothered  by  the  poetry  and 
sacrificed  to  the  poet's  tastes.  Since  he  delighted 
in  describing  voyages,  the  poem  is  full  of  them ; 
and  they  are  introduced,  not  because  they  are 
probable,  but  that  he  may  have  the  pleasure  of 
describing  them.  In  a  story  there  should  be 
some  relation  of  cause  and  effect,  otherwise  it 
will  not  hold  together.  In  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  " 
there  is  none.  Events  occur  as  Shelley  chooses. 
They  have  no  connection  with  each  other  or  with 
the  characters.  Therefore  they  do  not  hold  our 
attention.    As  for  the  hero  and  heroine,  they  are 

164 


"THE   REVOLT   OF   ISLAM" 

mere  mouthpieces  of  the  poet,  expressing  his 
opinions  at  length  and  on  any  pretext.  A  great 
narrative  poem,  like  a  great  poetic  play,  has  a 
cumulative  power.  The  further  we  read  in  it 
the  more  we  are  moved  by  its  poetry,  for  the 
sense  of  its  heightened  reality  grows  upon  us  with 
our  interest  in  the  characters  and  in  the  succession 
of  events.  In  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "  there  is  no 
cumulative  power,  for  it  grows  the  more  unreal 
the  further  we  read  in  it.  The  emotions  expressed 
in  it  seem  to  be  causeless,  since  we  can  take  no 
interest  in  the  story  which  is  supposed  to  excite 
them,  or  in  the  characters  who  are  supposed  to 
feel  them.  And  at  the  same  time  we  cannot 
enjoy  the  lyrical  passages  as  we  enjoy  isolated 
lyrics,  because  they  can  only  be  explained  by 
reference  to  the  unreal  and  obscure  story,  whereas 
an  isolated  lyric  explains  itself  or  needs  no  ex- 
planation. They  also  lack  the  concentration  of 
an  isolated  lyric,  and  are  mixed  up  with  rhetoric 
and  attempts  at  narrative.  Thus  there  is  a  vast 
deal  of  beautiful  poetry  lost  and  wasted  in  "  The 
Revolt  of  Islam,"  as  in  most  of  the  longer  poems 
of  the  romantic  movement.  Sometimes  the 
reader  comes  upon  a  magical  line  or  two,  such 
as — 

"Oh,  what  a  might 
Of  human  thought  was  cradled  in  that  night," 

or — 

"  While  far  Orion  o'er  the  waves  did  walk 
That  flow  among  the  isles." 

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SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Sometimes    upon     whole    stanzas    of     extreme 
beauty — 

'*  I  sate  beside  the  steersman  then,  and  gazing 

Upon  the  west,  cried,   '  Spread  the  sails  !     Behold  ! 

The  sinking  moon  is  like  a  watch-tower  blazing 
Over  the  mountains  yet ;    the  city  of  gold 
Yon  cape  alone  does  from  the  sight  withhold  ; 

The  stream  is  fleet — the  north  breathes  steadily 
Beneath  the  stars,  they  tremble  with  the  cold  ! 

Ye  cannot  rest  upon  the  dreary  sea  ! 

Haste,  haste  to  the  warm  home  of  happier  destiny  I 


»  >» 


Or  this  one,  in  which  Laon  thinks  Cythna 
dead — 

44  What  then  was  I  ?     She  slumbered  with  the  dead. 

Glory  and  joy  and  peace  had  come  and  gone. 
Doth  the  cloud  perish  when  the  beams  are  fled 

Which  steeped  its  skirts  in  gold  ?   or,  dark  and  lone, 

Doth  it  not  through  the  paths  of  night  unknown, 
On  outspread  wings  of  its  own  wind  upborne, 

Pour  rain  upon  the  earth  ?     The  stars  are  shown. 
When  the  cold  moon  sharpens  her  silver  horn 
Under  the  sea,  and  make  the  wide  night  not  forlorn." 

But  these  passages  delight  as  much  apart  from 
their  context  as  in  it.  They  prove  that  Shelley 
was  a  poet,  but  not  that  he  was  a  great  artist. 

There  is  one  circumstance  in  the  history  of  the 
poem  which  deserves  mention  as  an  instance  of 
the  recklessness  with  which  Shelley  still  revolted 
against  the  soundest  opinions  upon  sexual  matters, 
if  only  they  were  commonly  held.  He  had  got 
it  into  his  head  that  incest  was  not  wrong,  and 
was  resolved  to  express  this  strange  opinion  in  his 
poem.     He    therefore    made    Laon    and    Cythna 

166 


"THE  REVOLT  OF   ISLAM" 

brother  and  sister.  His  publisher  Oilier,  did  not 
discover  this  until  a  few  copies  of  it  had  been 
already  issued  (Peacock  says  only  three).  He  then 
refused  to  publish  it  unless  the  cause  of  offence 
was  removed.  Shelley  at  first  protested.  "  The 
public  respect  talent,"  he  wrote,  "and  a  large 
portion  of  them  are  already  undeceived  with 
regard  to  the  prejudices  which  my  book  attacks." 
He  was  strangely  ignorant  of  public  opinion. 
But  Oilier  pointed  out  that  only  a  few  alterations 
and  excisions  would  be  needed,  and  Shelley  con- 
sented to  make  them.  The  first  title  of  the  poem 
was  "  Laon  and  Cythna,"  and  this,  in  the  expur- 
gated version,  was  changed  to  "The  Revolt  of 
Islam." 

"  Prince  Athanase  "  was  never  finished  ;  and 
what  there  is  of  it  does  not  show  much  advance 
upon  "  Alastor."  Mrs.  Shelley  tells  us  that  it 
was  to  have  much  the  same  subject  as  that  poem. 
Athanase  seeks  through  the  world  the  One  whom 
he  may  love.  He  goes  on  a  voyage,  of  course, 
and  on  the  ship  meets  a  lady  who  seems  to  him  to 
be  all  that  he  desires.  But  he  is  deceived  in  her. 
She  deserts  him  and  he  pines  away  and  dies. 
"  On  his  death-bed,  the  lady  who  can  really  reply 
to  his  soul  comes  and  kisses  his  lips."  In  what 
we  have  of  the  poem  very  little  happens.  The 
old  man  Zonoras,  the  friend  of  Athanase,  is  very 
like  the  hermit  in  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam,"  and  like 
him,  is  drawn  from  Doctor  Lind.  Shelley  in  a 
note  said,    "  The  author  was  pursuing  a  fuller 

167 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

development  of  the  ideal  character  of  Athanase, 
when  it  struck  him  that,  in  an  attempt  at  extreme 
refinement  and  analysis,  his  conceptions  might  be 
betrayed  into  the  assuming  a  morbid  character." 

One  feels  that  Shelley  could  not  have  made 
Athanase  do  anything.  These  phantoms  of  his 
own  mind  can  never  act ;  they  can  only  feel,  and 
he  has  no  skill  in  inventing  causes  for  their  emo- 
tions. "  Athanase  "  is  written  in  terza  rima,  a 
difficult  metre  which  Shelley  was  fond  of,  and 
which  already  he  handled  with  great  skill.  It 
contains  some  good  lines ;  but  the  subject  was 
one  which  Shelley  had  already  exhausted.  Per- 
haps that  was  the  real  reason  why  he  did  not 
finish  it. 

Shelley  himself  thought  little  of  "  Rosalind  and 
Helen  "  and  only  finished  it  to  please  Mary.  Its 
ideas  are  very  like  those  of  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "; 
but  it  is  more  concerned  with  some  of  Shelley's 
own  particular  grievances.  Rosalind  and  Helen 
meet  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Como.  They  had 
been  friends  in  girlhood  ;  but  Rosalind  had  broken 
off  her  friendship  with  Helen,  because  Helen  had 
lived  unmarried  with  a  man  named  Lionel. 
Rosalind,  however,  had  learnt  charity  through 
her  own  sorrows.  As  she  stood  on  the  altar  stair 
with  the  man  she  loved,  her  father,  returned  from 
a  distant  land,  interrupted  the  marriage,  crying 
that  the  bridegroom  was  her  brother.  Afterwards 
she  had  made  a  loveless  marriage  with  a  rich  man 
who  turned  out  a  cruel  tyrant,  and,  dying,  left  a 

168 


"THE   REVOLT   OF  ISLAM" 

will  in  which  he  accused  her  falsely  of  infidelity 
and  atheism,  and  gave  instructions  that,  if  she 
tried  to  see  her  children,  they  should  inherit  none 
of  his  money.  Helen's  lover,  Lionel,  had  been  a 
poet  and  revolutionary.  There  is  nothing  but 
the  difference  of  name  and  circumstances  to 
distinguish  him  from  Laon.  The  disappointment 
of  his  revolutionary  hopes,  and  the  deceit  of  a 
woman  he  had  loved,  threw  him  into  a  decline  ; 
but  he  got  new  happiness  from  his  love  for  Helen. 
However,  the  ministers  of  misrule  seized  upon 
and  bore  his  chained  limbs  to  a  dreary  tower 
because  he  had  blasphemed  against  their  gods. 
Helen  dwelt  beside  the  prison  gate,  and  soon  his 
foes  released  Lionel  from  penitence  or  fear.  But 
Lionel  was  a  dying  man.  They  went  together  to 
Lionel's  home,  beside  the  hoary  western  sea.  In 
a  temple,  built  by  Lionel's  mother,  Helen  played 
to  him  on  his  mother's  harp.  He  was  drawn  to 
her  embrace,  and  died  in  her  arms.  Lionel  left 
her  great  wealth  in  his  will.  But  she  was  bereft 
of  it  all  by  the  ready  lies  of  the  law. 

"  But  let  me  think  not  of  the  scorn, 
Which  from  the  meanest  I  have  borne, 
When  for  my  child's  beloved  sake, 
I  mixed  with  slaves  to  vindicate 
The  very  laws  themselves  do  make." 

Here  Shelley  was  thinking  of  his  own  experience 
with  Lord  Eldon,  and  he  was  thinking  of  it  when 
he  described  Rosalind  as  separated  from  her 
children  on  a  false  charge  of  adultery  and  atheism. 

169 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Rosalind's  estrangement  from  Helen  was  taken 
from  the  experience  of  Mary,  who  had  lost  a  friend 
of  her  girlhood  for  the  same  reason. 

The  poem  is  a  kind  of  tract  in  verse,  and  it  is  no 
easier  to  turn  a  tract  into  good  poetry  when  its 
moral  is  unorthodox  than  when  it  is  orthodox. 
It  is  written  in  a  curious  mixture  of  narrative 
and  dialogue,  and  in  irregular  rhyming  verse. 
The  more  irregular  parts  are  much  influenced  by 
"  Christabel."  Shelley  was  right  to  think  little 
of  "  Rosalind  and  Helen."  The  task  of  writing 
it  may  have  given  him  disgust  for  didactic  poetry, 
to  which  his  genius  was  quite  unsuited."  From  this 
time  he  seldom  wasted  his  powers  upon  it,  and 
they  grew  with  wonderful  rapidity.  We  may 
consider  "  Rosalind  and  Helen  "  as  the  last  of  his 
immature  poems,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  last  that 
cannot  be  taken  seriously.  It  was  finished  in 
August,  1818,  and,  in  September,  he  began 
"Prometheus  Unbound." 


170 


CHAPTER    IX 
THE   DEPARTURE   TO   ITALY 

SHELLEY,  Mary,  and  Claire,  with  their  children, 
left    England  on   March    n,    1818,   Shelley 
never  to  return. 

As  they  went  through  the  Mont  Cenis  Pass, 
Shelley  sang — 

"  How  Heaven  neglected  is  by  men, 

And  gods  are  hung  upon  every  tree  ! 
But  not  the  more  for  loss  of  them 
Shall  this  fair  world  unhappy  be." 

He  said  that  the  mountains  were  God's  corps  de 
ballet,  and  that  the  Jungfrau  was  Mademoiselle 
Milanie.  They  reached  Turin  on  March  31,  and 
Milan  on  April  4.  They  wished  to  live  on  Lake 
Como  ;  and  saw  "  a  very  nice  house,  but  out  of 
repair,  with  an  excellent  garden,  but  full  of  ser- 
pents." It  is  a  wonder  that  Shelley  did  not  take 
it  at  once.  From  Milan  Claire's  daughter  was 
sent  to  Byron,  at  Venice.  He  had  taken  a  strong 
dislike  to  Claire,  whom  he  had  never  loved,  and 
was  resolved  that  she  should  not  keep  the  child. 
Claire  parted  with  her  daughter  because,  otherwise, 
she  feared  that  Byron  would  do  nothing  for  the 
child,  and  it  had  no  prospects  except  from  him. 

171 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Byron,  in  taking  the  child  from  her  mother,  sinned 
against  nature,  and  made  his  sin  worse  by  defend- 
ing it  with  odious  cant.  Shelley  appears  to  have 
advised  Claire  not  to  give  up  the  child.  During 
the  rest  of  its  short  life  he  did  all  he  could  for  it 
and  for  Claire.  She  suffered  cruelly,  and  had  no 
rest  from  anxiety  and  longing  until  it  was  dead. 

On  May  i  they  left  Milan  for  Leghorn,  where 
they  went  to  see  a  Mrs.  Gisborne  who  was  an  old 
friend  of  Godwin,  and  had  taken  care  of  Mary  in 
her  motherless  infancy.  Her  husband,  John 
Gisborne,  was  described  by  Shelley  as  "  a  man 
who  knows  I  cannot  tell  how  many  languages,  and 
has  read  almost  all  the  books  you  can  think  of ; 
but  all  that  they  contain  seems  to  be  to  his  mind 
what  water  is  to  a  sieve."  Mr.  Gisborne's  nose 
he  described  as  quite  Slawkenbergian.  "It  weighs 
on  the  imagination  to  look  at  it.  It  is  that  sort  of 
nose  which  transforms  all  the  g's  its  bearer  utters 
into  k's.  It  is  a  nose  once  seen  never  to  be  for- 
gotten, and  which  requires  the  utmost  stretch  of 
Christian  charity  to  forgive.  I,  you  know,  have 
a  little  turn-up  nose  ;  Hogg  has  a  large  hook  one  ; 
but  add  them  both  together,  square  them,  cube 
them,  you  will  have  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  nose  to 
which  I  refer."  Shelley's  notion  of  fun  was  always 
quite  primitive  ;  but,  when  he  got  hold  of  a  joke, 
like  a  high-spirited  child  he  did  not  quickly  let  go 
of  it. 

They  stayed  about  a  month  in  Leghorn,  and 
on  June  u,  1818,  went  to  the  Baths  of  Lucca, 

172 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

where  they  took  a  house.  There,  in  the  heat  of 
the  day,  Shelley  would  bathe  in  a  pool  under  a 
waterfall  deep  in  a  wood.  He  could  write  little 
poetry  at  this  time  ;  no  doubt  his  mind  was 
exhausted  after  the  "  Revolt  of  Islam,"  but  he 
made  his  free  and  eloquent  translation  of  the 
"  Banquet  of  Plato."  After  this  was  done  he 
finished  "  Rosalind  and  Helen,"  but  rather  as  a 
task  than  because  he  was  moved  to  complete  it. 
Meanwhile  Claire  was  fretting  about  her  child, 
for  they  had  bad  accounts  of  Byron's  way  of  life 
in  Venice.  She  persuaded  Shelley  to  go  with  her 
to  Venice  that  he  might  intercede  with  Byron, 
and  they  set  out  together  in  August,  leaving  Mary 
behind.  They  reached  Venice  on  August  22.  The 
child,  now  called  Allegra,  was  with  Mrs.  Hoppner, 
the  wife  of  the  English  Consul  at  Venice,  who  had 
offered  to  take  care  of  her.  Therefore  they  went 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Hoppner  their  first  morning  in 
Venice.  They  found  her  very  kind,  but  she  gave 
a  bad  account  of  Byron's  way  of  living.  Mrs. 
Hoppner,  being  a  good  woman,  naturally  sym- 
pathized with  Claire's  desire  to  have  her  child, 
and  they  discussed  the  best  manner  of  approaching 
Byron.  Since  Byron  had  declared  that  if  Claire 
came  to  Venice  he  would  leave  at  once,  it  was 
decided  that  he  should  be  told  that  she  was  at 
Padua.  Shelley  went  to  see  him  at  three  in  the 
afternoon.  Byron  received  him  well,  and  offered 
to  let  the  child  go  to  Claire  to  Padua  for  a  week. 
He  then  took  Shelley  out  in  his  gondola,  though 

173 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Shelley  was  anxious  to  get  back  with  his  news  to 
Claire.  They  went  to  the  Lido,  and  there  rode 
on  the  sands.  Byron  had  taken  a  villa  called  I 
Cappucini,  at  Este,  among  the  Euganean  Hills,  and 
thinking  that  Mary  and  her  children  were  with 
Claire  at  Padua,  he  offered  to  lend  it  to  them  for  a 
time,  and  to  send  Allegra  to  Claire  there.  Shelley 
accepted  the  offer,  and  wrote  to  Mary  asking  her 
to  come  with  the  children  to  Este.  "  I  have 
done  for  the  best,"  he  said,  "  and,  my  own  beloved 
Mary,  you  must  soon  come  and  scold  me  if  I  have 
done  wrong,  and  kiss  me  if  I  have  done  right." 
It  was  rash  to  take  the  two  children  across  Italy 
at  that  hot  season,  but  Mary  set  off  on  the  last 
day  of  August.  The  baby  Claire  was  teething, 
and,  when  they  reached  Este,  was  dangerously 
ill  with  dysentery.  She  continued  to  ail  for  some 
weeks,  and  there  was  no  good  doctor  at  Este,  so 
they  took  her  to  Venice  on  September  24.  The 
child  grew  worse  and  worse.  They  reached 
Venice  at  about  five  o'clock,  but  the  child  died 
soon  after.  The  Hoppners  took  them  to  their 
house,  and  Mary  did  not  give  way  to  her  grief ; 
but  this  was  the  second  child  she  had  lost,  and 
she  was  soon  to  lose  a  third.  They  went  up  to 
Byron's  villa  early  in  October.  There  they  had 
a  beautiful  view  over  the  plain  of  Lombardy, 
with  the  Apennines  in  the  far  distance.  They 
were  all  sad,  and  Shelley  was  ailing  ;  but  it  was 
now  that  he  began  to  write  the  poems  upon  which 
his  fame  is  established. 

174 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

The  best  passages  in  the  ' '  Lines  written  among 
the  Euganean  Hills  "  are  those  in  which  he  speaks 
of  Venice,  which  seemed  to  him  a  dead  city,  or 
worse  than  dead,  with  all  her  mouldering  beauty 
enslaved  by  the  Austrians.  She  will  be  a  less 
drear  ruin,  he  thinks,  when  she  is  deserted — 

"  And  all  is  in  its  ancient  state, 
Save  where  many  a  palace  gate 
With  green  sea-flowers  overgrown 
Like  a  rock  of  ocean's  own, 
Topples  o'er  the  abandoned  sea 
As  the  tides  change  sullenly. 
The  fisher  on  his  watery  way 
Wandering  at  the  close  of  day, 
Will  spread  his  sail  and  seize  his  oar 
Till  he  pass  the  gloomy  shore, 
Lest  thy  dead  should,  from  their  sleep, 
Bursting  o'er  the  starlight  deep, 
Lead  a  rapid  masque  of  death 
Over  the  waters  of  his  path." 

The  poem  expresses  a  mood  of  grief,  complicated 
and  enriched  by  delight  in  the  strange  and  half- 
unreal  beauties  of  Italy.  These  beauties  seem  to 
belong  to  a  land  where  no  grief  ought  to  be,  and 
fill  the  poet  with  the  desire  for  a  state  of  mind 
accordant  with  them.  At  the  end  his  longing 
for  an  earthly  Paradise  expresses  itself,  as  so 
often  in  his  poetry — 

"  Other  flowering  isles  must  be 
In  the  sea  of  life  and  agony  : 
Other  spirits  float  and  flee 
O'er  that  gulf  :    even  now,  perhaps, 
On  some  rock  the  wild  wave  wraps, 
With  folded  wings  they  waiting  sit 
For  my  bark,  to  pilot  it 

175 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

To  some  calm  and  blooming  cove, 

Where  for  me,  and  those  I  love, 

May  a  windless  bower  be  built, 

Far  from  passion,  pain,  and  guilt, 

In  a  dell  'mid  lawny  hills, 

Which  the  wild  sea-murmur  fills, 

And  soft  sunshine,  and  the  sound 

Of  old  forests  echoing  round, 

And  the  light  and  smell  divine 

Of  all  flowers  that  breathe  and  shine." 

The  poem  would  be  the  better  for  more  con- 
centration and  purpose.  Shelley  had  not  yet 
learnt,  as  Keats  advised  him,  to  load  every  rift 
with  ore.  But  he  had  never  before  written  with 
such  precision  and  simplicity  of  language,  or  in 
so  long  a  poem  kept  himself  free  from  mere 
rhetoric. 

Shelley  and  Mary  returned  to  Venice  on  October 
12,  and  Shelley  was  shocked  at  what  he  saw  of 
Byron's  profligacy.  They  were  back  at  Este  on 
October  24.  The  poem  "Julian  and  Maddalo," 
written,  perhaps,  between  his  two  first  visits  to 
Venice,  is  another  advance  upon  his  earlier  work. 
He  took  the  subject  partly  out  of  his  own 
experience.  The  best  of  it  is  a  record  of  his 
impressions  of  Venice,  and  of  conversations 
between  himself  and  Byron.  But  impressions 
and  conversations  strung  together  do  not  make 
a  coherent  poem,  and  Shelley  could  not  find  a 
subject  to  which  they  were  naturally  relevant 
and  subordinate.  After  a  wonderful  description 
of  a  sunset  seen  from  the  Lido,  we  have  some 
eloquent     conversations     between     Byron    and 

176 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

Shelley ;  and  these  lead  up  to  the  account  of  a 
maniac,  in  a  madhouse  upon  an  island,  whom 
they  visit.  He  is  one  of  Shelley's  conventional 
heroes,  like  the  youth  in  "Alastor,"  and  Laon, 
and  Lionel.  He  had  held  Shelley's  opinions,  had 
lost  all  his  wealth,  and  had  been  driven  mad  by 
the  faithlessness  of  a  lady  who  came  with  him 
from  France.  Two  hundred  lines  of  the  poem 
are  taken  up  with  his  speech,  which  contains 
many  beauties,  but  is  vague  and  incoherent.  No 
doubt  a  madman's  speech  would  be  vague  and 
incoherent,  but  that  is  a  reason  why  it  should  not 
be  versified  at  length.  And  he  does  not  speak 
like  a  madman,  but  like  a  young  poet  crossed  in 
love  and  out  of  conceit  with  life. 

Thus  "  Julian  and  Maddalo "  is  a  formless 
work,  but  particular  passages  deserve  the  praise 
they  have  received.  When  Shelley  writes  out 
of  his  own  experience  he  shows  a  new  power  of 
being,  familiar  but  not  prosaic.  In  his  introduction 
he  says  that  the  more  serious  conversation  of 
Count  Maddalo  (Byron)  "  is  a  sort  of  intoxica- 
tion ;  men  are  held  by  it  as  by  a  spell."  In  the 
poem  he  gives  us  snatches  of  this  conversation 
glorified  by  his  own  art,  but  not  emptied  of  char- 
acter and  reality.  They  have  heard  the  bell  in 
the  madhouse  tower  calling  the  lunatics  to  prayer, 
and  Julian,  who  is  Shelley  himself,  says— 

"  '  As  much  skill  as  need  to  pray 
In  thanks  or  hope  for  their  dark  lot  have  they 
To  their  stern  Maker.  .  .  .'  " 

12  I77 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Byron  lives  for  us  in  what  follows  : — 

"  «  Oh,  ho  ! 
You  talk  as  in  years  past,'  said  Maddalo. 
'  Tis  strange  men  change  not.     You  were  ever  still 
Among  Christ's  flock  a  perilous  infidel, 
A  wolf  for  the  meek  lambs — if  you  can't  swim, 
Beware  of  Providence.'     I  looked  on  him, 
But  the  gay  smile  had  faded  from  his  eye. 
1  And  such,'  he  cried,  '  is  our  mortality, 
And  this  must  be  the  emblem  and  the  sign 
Of  what  should  be  eternal  and  divine  ! 
And  like  that  black  and  dreary  bell  the  soul, 
Hung  in  an  heaven-illumined  tower,  must  toll 
Our  thoughts  and  our  desires  to  meet  below 
Round  the  rent  heart,  and  pray — as  madmen  do  ; 
For  what  ?    they  know  not, — till  the  night  of  death, 
As  sunset  that  strange  vision,  severeth 
Our  memory  from  itself,  and  us  from  all 
We  sought,  and  yet  were  baffled.'  " 

The  poem  gives  us  Shelley's  impressions  of 
Byron  and  Venice,  and  it  proves  that  he  was  able 
to  record  such  impressions  vividly  and  swiftly. 
The  versification  is  very  original  and  skilful.  The 
sense  overflows  the  couplets  as  in  the  Elizabethan 
and  Jacobean  poets,  but  it  seldom  rambles  on  or 
loses  itself  in  helpless  mazes  after  the  manner  of 
the  Caroline  heroic  poems  and  "  Endymion." 
Shelley  now  began  to  show  a  new  power  of  writing 
tersely,  of  saying  things  easy  to  remember ;  and 
this  poem  contains  one  of  the  few  familiar  quota- 
tions that  came  from  his  works  : — 

11  Most  wretched  men 
Are  cradled  into  poetry  by  wrong, 
They  learn  in  suffering  what  they  teach  in  song." 

178 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

Shelley  had  been  full  of  the  idea  of  "  Prometheus 
Unbound  "  ever  since  he  came  to  Italy,  and  at 
Este  he  began  it.  The  first  act  was  written  there 
in  September  and  October.  At  the  beginning 
of  November  the  Shelleys  decided  to  go  south 
for  the  winter,  and  "  Prometheus "  was  not 
continued  till  the  spring.  They  reached  Rome 
on  November  20,  but  only  stayed  there  a  week. 
Shelley  was  most  impressed  by  the  Coliseum,  and 
began  a  romance  about  it,  eloquent  but  vague, 
which  he  never  finished.  It  is  written  as  if  it 
ought  to  be  in  verse,  like  most  of  Shelley's  more 
imaginative  prose.  On  November  27  Shelley 
went  to  Naples  alone  to  get  lodgings  ;  the  others 
followed  the  next  day.  At  Naples  they  had 
trouble  with  an  Italian  servant,  Paolo  Foggi,  who 
robbed  them  and  seduced  their  son's  nurse,  Elise. 
Mary,  who  had  learned,  perhaps,  from  her  own 
experience  and  Claire's  that  freedom  might  be 
harder  for  women  than  marriage  itself,  behaved 
in  this  emergency  like  a  British  matron  and  had 
them  married  at  the  English  Church  before  she 
dismissed  them.  The  man  afterwards  tried  to 
blackmail  Shelley  with  a  threat  of  lying  charges, 
and  his  slanders  were  a  great  trouble  to  both 
Shelley  and  Mary,  as  we  shall  see.  Mrs.  Shelley 
tells  us  that  at  Naples  Shelley  suffered  much  both 
from  bad  health  and  from  melancholy.  This 
melancholy  was  expressed  in  the  first  of  his  shorter 
poems,  which  is  commonly  considered  a  master- 
piece,  the   "  Stanzas  written  in   dejection  near 

179 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Naples."  What  interests  us  in  these  stanzas, 
and  in  other  poems  of  the  same  character,  is  the 
conflict  between  melancholy  and  delight,  and  the 
troubled  music  that  comes  of  it.  If  melancholy 
were  unopposed  and  unmixed  there  could  be  no 
music,  for  no  one  could  express  such  melancholy 
in  music.  There  must  be  some  delight  in  the 
expression  of  whatever  is  expressed  in  terms  of 
beauty. 

"  Yet  now  despair  itself  is  mild, 

Even  as  the  winds  and  waters  are ; 

I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child, 
And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 

Which  I  have  borne  and  yet  must  bear." 

Here  the  sense  is  all  melancholy,  but  not 
the  sound  ;  and  the  sound  of  poetry  expresses  an 
emotion  which  may,  almost  unknown  to  the  poet, 
be  in  conflict  with  the  sense. 

About  this  time  Shelley  wrote  two  fragments 
of  poems,  "  The  Woodman  and  the  Nightingale," 
and  "  Mazenghi,"  in  which,  so  far  as  they  go,  the 
story  is  a  mere  pretext  for  descriptions,  and  which 
were  abandoned,  perhaps,  because  he  lost  interest 
in  them  when  he  had  described  what  he  wanted 
to  describe.  A  passage  about  the  nightingale's 
song  reminds  one  of  the  long-drawn  raptures  of 
Crashaw  and  Swinburne  : — 

"  The  folded  roses  and  the  violets  pale 

Heard  her  within  their  slumbers,  the  abyss 
Of  heaven  with  all  its  planets  ;    the  dull  ear 
Of  the  night-cradled  earth  ;    the  loneliness 

180 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

Of  the  circumfluous  waters, — every  sphere 

And  every  flower  and  beam  and  cloud  and  wave, 

And  every  wind  of  the  mute  atmosphere, 

And  every  beast  stretched  in  its  rugged  cave, 
And  every  bird  lulled  on  its  mossy  bough, 
And  every  silver  moth  fresh  from  the  grave 

Which  is  its  cradle — ever  from  below 
Aspiring  like  one  who  loves  too  fair,  too  far, 
To  be  consumed  within  the  purest  glow 

Of  one  serene  and  unapproached  star, 
As  if  it  were  a  lamp  of  earthly  light, 
Unconscious,  as  some  human  lovers  are, 

Itself  how  low,  how  high  beyond  all  height 

The  heaven  where  it  would  perish  ! — and  every  form 

That  worshipped  in  the  temple  of  the  night 

Was  awed  into  delight,  and  by  the  charm 

Girt  as  with  an  interminable  zone, 

Whilst  that  sweet  bird,  whose  music  was  a  storm 

Of  sound,  shook  forth  the  dull  oblivion 
Out  of  their  dreams." 


"  Mazenghi "  is  the  beginning  of  a  story  of  a 
Florentine  exile.  There  is  nothing  to  prove  that 
Shelley  would  have  made  anything  of  it.  But 
it  contains  a  most  fanciful  description  of  the  exile's 
doings  at  the  edge  of  a  poisonous  marsh  : — 

"  And  the  marsh-meteors,  like  tame  beasts,  at  night 
Came  licking  with  blue  tongues  his  veined  feet ; 
And  he  would  watch  them,  as,  like  spirits  bright, 

In  many  entangled  figures  quaint  and  sweet, 
To  some  enchanted  music  they  would  dance — 
Until  they  vanished  at  the  first  moon-glance." 

181 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Both  here  and  in  the  nightingale  poem  Shelley  is 
beginning  to  express  that  sense,  which  he  possessed 
beyond  all  poets,  of  a  humanity  in  all  beautiful 
things,  as  if  they  felt  the  significance  of  their 
own  beauty  and  through  that  beauty  were 
communicating  with  each  other  and  with  him. 
For  him,  indeed,  the  upper  air  and  the  whole 
universe  burst  into  life,  and  seemed  as  full  of 
significance  as  a  beautiful  human  being  seems  to 
the  rest  of  us. 

On  February  28,  1819,  the  whole  party  left 
Naples  for  Rome,  which  they  reached  on  March  5. 
Shelley  now  began  to  make  a  serious  study  of 
pictures  and  sculpture.  Great  artists  are  often 
poor  judges  of  another  art,  and  there  is  nothing 
remarkable  in  Shelley's  criticisms.  He  thought 
that  Michelangelo  had  no  temperance,  no  modesty, 
no  feeling  for  the  just  boundaries  of  art  ;  and, 
strangest  of  all,  no  sense  of  beauty,  for  which 
reason  hell  and  death  were  his  real  sphere.  He  had 
the  admiration  of  his  time  for  Guido  Reni ;  but  if 
he  saw  more  in  Guido's  art  than  there  really  is, 
we  probably  see  less.  Wonder  has  been  expressed 
at  his  admiration  for  Salvator  Rosa,  but  Salvator 
is  often  admirable.  There  have  been  preserved 
some  notes  of  his  on  sculpture  in  Rome  and  Flor- 
ence. These  consist  mostly  of  descriptions,  often 
very  precise  and  minute.  The  most  interesting 
is  a  note  headed  "  An  Accouchement ;  a  bas- 
relief,"  which  is  a  very  close  description  of  the 
Tornabuoni  relief  in  the    Bargello  at    Florence, 

182 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

attributed,  probably  wrongly,  to  Verrocchio. 
Shelley  was  merely  amused  by  the  naivete* 
of  the  relief,  which  is  supposed  to  represent 
the  death  of  Lucrezia  Tornabuoni  in  child-birth  ; 
and  describes  it  with  some  humour.  He  does  not 
know  what  the  subject  may  be.  "  What  they 
are  all  wailing  at,"  he  says,  "  I  don't  know ; 
whether  the  lady  is  dying,  or  the  father  has 
ordered  the  child  to  be  exposed  :  but  if  the  mother 
be  not  dead,  such  a  tumult  would  kill  a  woman 
in  the  straw  in  these  days."  The  other  relief, 
representing  the  presentation  of  the  child  to  the 
widower,  seemed  to  Shelley  "  altogether  an 
admirable  piece,  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  comedies 
of  Terence."  Yet  it  is  meant  to  be,  and  is,  a 
pathetic  scene.  Shelley  was  used  to  find  pathos 
only  in  the  works  of  a  later  school ;  but  he  noticed 
the  realism  of  this  more  archaic  art,  and  was  enough 
interested  in  it  to  describe  it  minutely.  He  was 
disgusted  with  Michelangelo's  Bacchus.  "  Its 
countenance  is  the  most  revolting  mistake  of  the 
spirit  and  meaning  of  Bacchus.  It  looks  drunken, 
brutal,  and  narrow-minded,  and  has  an  expression 
of  dissoluteness  the  most  revolting.  ...  It  is 
altogether  without  unity,  as  was  the  idea  of  the 
deity  of  Bacchus  in  the  conception  of  a  Catholic. 
On  the  other  hand,  considered  merely  as  a  piece 
of  workmanship,  it  has  great  merits.  ...  As  a 
representation  of  the  Greek  deity  of  Bacchus  it 
wants  everything."  The  Bacchus  is  a  very 
wonderful  work,  but  it  represents  him  as  the  god 

183 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  wine,  a  child  of  the  earth  drowsed  with  its 
richness.  To  Shelley  he  was  pure  spirit,  just  as 
the  earth  itself  in  his  poetry  loses  its  heaviness 
and  substance  and  seems  almost  as  unsubstantial 
as  the  clouds. 

Shelley's  son,  William,  was  not  suited  by  the 
heat  of  Italy.  On  June  2  he  was  taken  ill  with  a 
gastric  attack,  and,  on  June  7,  he  died.  This 
was  the  third  child  Mary  had  lost,  and  none 
remained  to  her.  She  was  again  pregnant,  but 
therefore  only  suffered  more.  This  calamity  made 
an  end  of  her  youth,  and  she  never  recovered  the 
spirits  and  confidence  of  youth. 

Shelley,  too,  suffered  much  from  the  loss  of  his 
child.  But  he  had  his  art,  for  he  was  born  to  be  a 
poet.  Mary  was  born  to  be  a  mother,  and  for  a 
time  her  occupation  seemed  to  be  gone.  Shelley 
could  soothe  his  grief  with  beautiful  fancies.  It 
was  some  little  consolation  to  him  that  the  child 
should  be  buried  in  that  flowery  English  cemetery 
that  had  pleased  him  when  he  first  went  to  Rome. 

"  Where  art  thou,  my  gentle  child  ? 

Let  me  think  thy  spirit  feeds, 
With  its  life  intense  and  mild, 

The  love  of  living  leaves  and  weeds 
Among  these  tombs  and  ruins  wild  ; 

Let  me  think  that  through  low  seeds 
Of  the  sweet  flowers  and  sunny  grass, 
Into  their  hues  and  scents  may  pass 

A  portion " 

The  poem  breaks  off  there,  perhaps  because  his 
loss  pressed  it  upon  his  mind  and  cut  it  off  from 

184 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO  ITALY 

all  escape  into  fancies.  There  are  other  frag- 
ments written  this  year  about  the  child's  death  ; 
and  two  in  which  he  laments  the  manner  in  which 
Mary  was  secluded  from  him  by  her  grief  : — 

"  My  dearest  Mary,  wherefore  hast  thou  gone, 
And  left  me  in  this  dreary  world  alone  ? 
Thy  form  is  here  indeed — a  lovely  one — 
But  thou  art  fled,  gone  down  the  dreary  road 
That  leads  to  sorrow's  most  obscure  abode  ; 
Thou  sittest  on  the  hearth  of  pale  despair, 

Where 
For  thine  own  sake  I  cannot  follow  thee." 

It  was  an  evil  time  for  both  of  them,  but  most 
evil  for  Mary.  Real  life  is  very  different  from  our 
sentimental  notions  of  it.  We  should  expect  a 
divine  poet,  the  kindest  of  men,  and  his  wife,  the 
best  of  women,  to  be  drawn  more  closely  together 
by  the  loss  of  their  only  son.  But  a  divine  poet 
has  a  great  work  to  do  ;  no  grief  can  long  distract 
him  from  that ;  and  he  looks  to  his  wife  to  help 
him  in  it.  Nothing,  however,  for  a  while  can 
distract  her  from  her  grief.  She  cannot  give  him 
that  help  which  he  has  learnt  to  expect  from  her. 
All  the  wife  in  her  is  lost  in  the  mother's  longing. 
Therefore  their  loss  estranges  them  instead  of 
bringing  them  together  ;  and  not  through  their 
own  fault  so  much  as  through  the  different  laws 
of  their  being.  But  in  November  a  son  was  born 
to  Mary,  and  nature  again  became  her  friend. 
"  Poor  Mary  begins  (for  the  first  time),"  Shelley 
wrote,  "  to  look  a  little  consoled,  for  we  have  spent, 
as  you  may  imagine,  a  miserable  five  months." 

185 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

A  few  days  after  the  death  of  William  they  had 
left  Rome  for  Leghorn,  no  doubt  that  Mary  might 
have  the  companionship  of  Mrs.  Gisborne.  They 
took  a  villa  outside  Leghorn  for  three  months. 
At  this  time  Shelley  considered  "  Prometheus 
Unbound  "  to  be  finished  in  three  acts.  The  last 
act,  which  he  wrote  a  few  months  later,  was  an 
after- thought.  But  his  mind  was  not  exhausted 
by  that  act  of  creation.  In  the  spring  of  1818  he 
had  read  a  manuscript  account  of  the  story  of 
Beatrice  Cenci,  and,  when  he  went  to  Rome,  he 
was  ready  to  find  all  that  he  looked  for  in  the 
famous  picture  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  portrait 
of  her  and  the  work  of  Guido  Reni.  "  There  is 
a  fixed  and  pale  composure  upon  the  features," 
he  wrote.  "  She  seems  sad  and  stricken  down  in 
spirit,  yet  the  despair  thus  expressed  is  lightened 
by  the  patience  of  gentleness." 

He  also  discovered  that  "  the  story  of  the  Cenci 
was  a  subject  not  to  be  mentioned  in  Italian 
society  without  awakening  a  deep  and  breathless 
interest,"  On  May  14  he  had  begun  to  write  a 
tragedy  on  the  subject.  He  now  continued  it  at 
Leghorn.  The  rough  draft  of  the  play  was  finished 
on  August  8.  The  fair  copy  was  made  before  the 
end  of  the  month,  and  an  edition  of  250  copies 
was  printed  at  Leghorn  for  the  sake  of  cheapness. 
The  books  were  sent  to  England,  and  published 
by  Oilier  in  the  spring  of  1820.  "  The  Cenci " 
had  a  larger  sale  than  any  other  of  Shelley's 
works  except,  perhaps,  "  Queen  Mab,"  and  went 

186 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

into  a  second  edition,  which  was  printed  in  Eng- 
land, in  1 82 1. 

On  September  30  the  Shelleys  left  Leghorn 
for  Florence,  and  reached  Florence  on  October  2. 
At  this  time  Shelley  wrote  the  first  of  those  lyrics 
which,  by  almost  universal  consent,  have  made 
him  the  greatest  English  lyrical  poet.  The  "  Ode 
to  the  West  Wind"  "was  conceived  and  chiefly 
written  in  a  wood  that  skirts  the  Arno,  near 
Florence,  and  on  a  day  when  that  tempestuous 
wind  .  .  .  was  collecting  the  vapours  which  pour 
down  the  autumnal  rains.  They  began  ...  at 
sunset  with  a  violent  tempest  of  hail  and  rain, 
attended  by  that  magnificent  thunder  and  light- 
ning peculiar  to  the  Cisalpine  regions.' ' 

Those  who  cannot  by  any  power  of  art  be 
wrought  upon  to  share,  even  for  a  moment,  Shelley's 
delighted  sense  of  the  significance  of  natural 
forces,  will  find  in  the  "  Ode  to  the  West  Wind  " 
itself  only  a  swarm  of  fancies  swept  along  in  a 
stream  of  entrancing  music.  It  has  been  said 
that  Shelley  was  a  myth-maker.  His  myths  were 
not  to  him  mere  caprices  of  fancy.  They  expressed 
by  the  only  means  which  human  language  provides 
for  the  expression  of  such  things,  that  sense,  which 
he  possessed,  of  a  more  intense  reality  in  nature 
than  is  felt  by  other  men. 

To  most  of  us,  the  forces  of  nature  have  but 
reality.  To  many,  especially  in  modern  times, 
they  seem  to  be  mechanical ;  and  even  when  they 
manifest  themselves  in  beauty,  there  are  some  who 

187 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

enjoy  that  beauty  only  with  the  senses  and  without 
any  notion  that  it  has  more  significance  than  a 
display  of  fireworks.  But  for  Shelley  these  forces 
had  as  much  reality  as  human  beings  have  for 
most  of  us,  and  he  found  the  same  kind  of  intense 
significance  in  their  manifestations  of  beauty 
that  we  find  in  the  beauty  of  human  beings  or 
of  great  works  of  art.  The  nature  of  this  signifi- 
cance he  could  not  explain  ;  but  he  could  express 
it  with  enormous  power  in  his  art,  and  with  a  pre- 
cision of  statement  which  seems  miraculous  when 
the  nature  of  his  subject  matter  is  considered. 
Shelley's  poetry  is  often  called  vague,  and  his 
weaker  poems  are  vaguer  than  they  need  be.  But 
his  finest  lyrics  are  more  lucid  and  exact  than  any 
other  poetry  of  the  same  kind.  There  is  this 
difference  between  Shelley  and  primitive  myth- 
makers — that  they  seem  to  have  thought  of  the 
forces  of  nature  as  disguised  beings  more  powerful 
than  themselves  but  still  in  all  essentials  human,  or 
else  as  manifestations  of  the  power  of  such  beings. 
But  to  Shelley  the  west  wind  was  still  a  wind, 
and  the  cloud  a  cloud,  however  intense  a  reality 
they  might  have  for  him.  In  his  poetry  they 
keep  their  own  character  and  do  not  take  on 
human  attributes,  though  their  own  qualities  may 
be  expressed  in  imagery  taken  from  human  beings. 
When  he  addresses  the  west  wind  thus — 

"  Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion, 
Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are  shed, 
Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  Heaven  and  Ocean, 

188 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

Angels  of  rain  and  lightning  :    there  are  spread 
On  the  blue  surface  of  thine  aery  surge, 
Like  the  bright  hair  uplifted  from  the  head 

Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  even  from  the  dim  verge 

Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height, 

The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.     Thou  dirge 

Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 
Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre, 
Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 

Of  vapours,  from  whose  solid  atmosphere 

Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail  will  burst :    oh,  hear  !  " 

Then  we  are  not  wrought  upon  to  feel  anything 
human  in  the  wind's  power ;  but,  if  we  are  sus- 
ceptible to  Shelley's  magic,  we  are  filled  with  a 
new  sense  of  the  life  and  significance  and  reality 
of  nature.  Notice,  too,  that  Shelley  gives  us  no 
picture  here.  The  poem  is  scarcely  more  fit  to  be 
illustrated  than  a  piece  of  music  ;  and  it  is  much 
nearer  to  music  than  to  painting,  being  so  full  of 
sound  and  motion.  Yet  it  gives  us  a  more  vivid 
sense  of  experience  than  we  could  get  from  any 
pictorial  description.  The  metre,  which  is  terza 
rima  divided  into  short  periods,  is  managed  with 
complete  mastery.  No  one  has  ever  made  the 
ordinary  heroic  line  move  so  swiftly  as  Shelley, 
and  here,  as  the  lines  rush  through  a  complicated 
system  of  rhymes,  they  express  the  irresistible 
power  of  the  wind ;  and  the  music  of  each  period 
is  varied  as  if  with  sudden  changes  of  instruments 
in  an  orchestra.     After  the  diverse  and  clashing 

189 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

sounds  of  the  period  I  have  quoted,  there  follows 
one  that  opens  like  a  new  theme  played  upon 
violins — 

"  Thou  who  didst  waken  from  his  summer  dreams 
The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay, 
Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams, 

Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Baiae's  bay." 

The  beautiful  "  Indian  Senerade  "  also  belongs 
to  this  time.  We  cannot  doubt  that  Shelley 
meant  to  imitate  Moore  in  it.  He  thought 
Moore  a  better  poet  than  himself.  If  Mozart's 
"  Don  Giovanni  "  had  been  composed  in  imitation 
of  Rossini,  the  result  would  not  have  been  more 
surprising.  But  genius  can  get  its  inspiration 
from  inferior  art  as  well  as  from  nature,  and 
Shelley,  trying  to  sing  like  Moore,  sang  like  him- 
self instead. 

Mary  Shelley  tells  us  that  Shelley  at  this  time 
had  the  idea  of  publishing  a  series  of  poems 
adapted  expressly  to  commemorate  the  wrongs 
of  the  people.  "  He  believed  that  a  clash  between 
the  two  classes  of  society  was  inevitable,  and  he 
eagerly  ranged  himself  on  the  people '  s  side . ' '  The 
year  before  he  had  called  Wordsworth  "  a  pitiful 
wretch  "  in  a  letter  to  Peacock,  and  he  was  deter- 
mined that  all  the  poets  should  not  seem  indifferent 
to  the  dreadful  condition  of  the  English  poor. 
Now  he  feared  lest  anarchy  should  be  "  the  last 
flash  before  despotism."  There  was,  indeed,  a 
danger  that  England  would  submit  to  the  most 

190 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

ignominious  of  all  despotisms,  that  of  a  plutocracy. 
Shelley  saw  this  while  Wordsworth  and  Scott,  in 
their  honest  but  sentimental  Toryism,  did  not. 
The  poems  which  Shelley  wrote  at  this  time  to 
express  his  political  opinions  may  appear  to  us 
exaggerated,  but  we  are  too  young  to  know  what 
England  was  like  in  1819.  Then  it  was  not 
absurd  to  speak  of  the  "  death-white  shore  of 
Albion,  free  no  more,"  for  the  English  people 
seemed  to  be  falling  into  an  economic  slavery 
worse  than  any  political  oppression,  and  the  British 
Constitution  had  been  corrupted  into  a  mockery 
of  itself.  Shelley  speaks  of  this  economic  slavery 
in  his  "  Song  to  the  Men  of  England,"  and  one 
verse  at  least  is  direct  and  strong  : — 

"  The  seed  ye  sow,  another  reaps  ; 
The  wealth  ye  find,  another  keeps  ; 
The  robes  ye  weave,  another  wears  ; 
The  arms  ye  forge,  another  bears." 

The  longest  of  these  political  poems  is  the 
"  Masque  of  Anarchy."  Shelley  wrote  it  on 
hearing  the  news  of  the  Manchester  massacre. 
It  is,  Mrs.  Shelley  says,  in  a  more  popular  tone 
than  usual ;  but,  though  the  language  is  simple, 
it  is  too  full  of  generalities  for  a  popular 
audience. 

In  October  he  wrote  "  Peter  Bell  the  Third  "— 
more  a  satire  on  Wordsworth  than  a  parody  of 
his  poem.  Shelley  was  angry  with  Wordsworth 
because  he  had  become  a  reactionary  in  politics. 

191 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Mrs.  Shelley  tells  us  that  no  man  admired  Words- 
worth's poetry  more,  but  he  thought  that  a  poet 
who  lost  all  the  high  hopes  of  his  youth  must  be 
infected  with  dullness. 

"  Peter  Bell  the  Third  "  is  too  long,  but  it  is  by 
far  the  most  interesting  of  Shelley's  lighter  poems. 
The  idea  is  good,  and  some  of  the  verses  have  a 
curious  wit,  as  in  this  account  of  Wordsworth's 
attitude  towards  nature  : — 

"  But  from  the  first  'twas  Peter's  drift 
To  be  a  kind  of  moral  eunuch  : 
He  touched  the  hem  of  nature's  shift, 

Felt  faint, — and  never  dared  uplift 
The  closest,  all-concealing  tunic. 

She  laughed  the  while,  with  an  arch  smile, 

And  kissed  him  with  a  sister's  kiss, 
And  said — '  My  best  Diogenes, 
I  love  you  well — but,  if  you  please, 
Tempt  not  again  my  deepest  bliss.'  " 

Shelley  apparently  had  the  idea  that  Words- 
worth now  only  wrote  well  when  inspired  by 
Coleridge.  Under  his  influence,  he  says,  Words- 
worth produced  poetry — 

"  Like  gentle  rains,  on  the  dry  plains, 

Making  that  green  which  late  was  gray, 
Or  like  the  sudden  moon,  that  stains 
Some  gloomy  chamber's  window-panes 
With  a  broad  light  like  day." 

Here  is  a  description  of  the  hostile  review  of 
Wordsworth's  poetry,  which  is  drawn  from  real 
reviews  of  Shelley's  own  : — 

192 


THE  DEPARTURE  TO   ITALY 

"By  that  last  book  of  yours  we  think 

You've  double-damned  yourself  to  scorn  ; 
We  warned  you  whilst  yet  on  the  brink 
You  stood.     From  your  black  name  will  shrink 
The  babe  that  is  unborn." 

The  last  remark  had  actually  been  made  by 
a  reviewer  about  Shelley ;  but  he  was  always 
indifferent  to  such  abuse. 

In  December,  1819,  Shelley  began  a  prose  work, 
called  "A  Philosophical  View  of  Reform."  The 
unfinished  first  draft  of  this  has  been  preserved. 
Shelley  saw  that  England  was  in  danger  of  falling 
under  the  tyranny  of  a  plutocracy.  The  National 
Debt  seemed  to  him  the  great  symbol  of  that 
tyranny.  It  was  indeed  true  that  rich  men  who 
had  profited  by  the  war  had  lent  some  of  their 
profits  to  the  Government  for  the  purpose  of 
carrying  on  the  war,  and  that  the  interest  on  their 
loans  was  now  being  paid  directly  or  indirectly 
by  multitudes  whom  the  war  had  impoverished. 
Shelley  had  a  vague  scheme  for  lessening  the 
burden  of  the  National  Debt  on  the  many  and 
its  profit  to  the  few.  There  can  be  little  doubt 
that  if  he  had  lived  now  he  would  have  been  a 
Socialist,  and  probably  a  Fabian,  for  in  political 
matters  he  was  not  a  violent  revolutionary.  He 
was  still  opposed  to  Universal  Suffrage  and  thought 
vote  by  ballot  too  mechanical.  He  was  doubtful 
about  Woman's  Suffrage. 

At  the  end  of  1819  he  wrote  the  last  act  of 
"Prometheus  Unbound,"  and  I  will  now  say 
what  I  have  to  say  of  that  work  and  "  The  Cenci." 

13  193 


CHAPTER     X 

"  PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND  "  AND 
"THE    CENCI" 

IN  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  Shelley  attempted 
to  make  one  of  the  great  poems  of  the  world. 
It  is  the  most  ambitious  poem  of  the  Romantic 
Movement,  and  one  of  the  most  ambitious  that 
ever  was  written.  The  very  vastness  of  the 
poet's  ambition  produced  beauties  that  could  not 
have  been  in  a  humbler  and  more  perfect  work  ; 
but  no  poet,  however  great  his  genius,  can  achieve 
a  masterpiece  in  the  highest  kind  of  poetry  unless 
all  circumstances  conspire  to  favour  him.  Cir- 
cumstances did  not  favour  the  romantic  poets  so 
much  as  to  allow  any  one  of  them  to  produce  one 
of  the  great  poems  of  the  world.  Both  the  epic 
and  the  dramatic  forms  were  dead  when  the 
Romantic  Movement  began  ;  no  efforts  availed 
to  bring  them  to  life  again,  nor  was  any  new  form 
of  poetry  created  in  which  all  the  romantic  ideas 
and  emotions  could  find  a  complete  and  coherent 
expression.  Forms  of  this  kind  are  imposed  upon 
the  poet  rather  than  created  by  him,  and  they  are 
imposed  by  a  public  that  regards  poetry  as  one 
of  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  life.    We  may  suppose 

194 


"PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 

that  listening  to  epic  poetry  was  such  a  pleasure 
to  the  audience  of  Homer.  The  later  Greeks 
and  the  Elizabethans  certainly  enjoyed  poetry  in 
their  plays,  while,  at  the  same  time,  they  expected 
those  plays  to  interest  and  excite  them.  Thus 
Homer  and  ^Eschylus  and  Shakespeare  were 
popular  entertainers  as  well  as  great  poets,  and 
a  task  was  imposed  upon  them  by  their  public 
besides  the  task  which  they  chose  to  make  for 
themselves.  But  no  such  task  was  imposed  upon 
the  romantic  poets,  nor  could  they  create  a  popular 
demand  for  any  of  the  great  forms  of  poetry.  It 
is  true  that  the  narrative  poems  of  Scott  and 
Byron  had  a  large  sale  ;  but  nothing  great  was 
developed  out  of  them,  and  Scott  soon  turned  to 
prose,  while  Byron  in  "Don  Juan  "  used  poetry 
to  make  game  of  itself,  just  as  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw 
sometimes  uses  the  drama  to  make  game  of  itself. 
Other  romantic  poets  had  higher  ambitions,  and 
tried  to  adapt  the  epic  or  the  drama  to  their  own 
purposes.  But  there  was  no  purpose  outside 
themselves  to  direct  their  adaptations.  When 
Wordsworth  started  to  write  the  "  Excursion  " 
or  the  "  Prelude  "  he  had  no  one  to  please  but 
himself,  no  difficulties  to  overcome  except  those 
which  he  chose  to  make.  He  had  to  set  his  own 
problem,  and,  naturally,  he  set  one  that  was  too 
easy.  He  was  not  subject  to  that  external  con- 
straint by  which  alone  the  great  forms  of  art  can 
be  developed ;  and  so  the  "  Prelude  "  and  the 
'  Excursion  "  are  formless,  their  beauties  casual 

195 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  disconnected,  their  inspiration  at  the  mercy 
of  the  poet's  whims. 

So  it  was  with  Shelley  when  he  wrote  "  The 
Revolt  of  Islam,"  and  it  is  wonderful  that,  when 
only  a  year  later  he  wrote  "  Prometheus,"  he 
should  have  produced  a  poem  so  much  better  in 
form.  For  the  difficulties  of  "  Prometheus " 
were  enormous.  The  subject  is  one  that  would 
not  suit  any  form  of  poetry  that  has  ever  been 
devised,  and  when  Shelley  treated  it  as  a  lyrical 
drama  he  only  did  so  because  all  other  forms 
were  clearly  impossible.  His  purpose  was  to 
express  his  sense  of  the  present  evil  conditions  of 
the  universe,  to  represent  a  sudden  miraculous 
change  in  that  condition,  and  finally  to  sing  the 
glory  of  the  universe  thus  transformed.  He  had 
learnt  too  much  about  his  art  to  treat  this 
subject  as  he  had  treated  it  in  "  Queen  Mab." 
He  had  done  with  sermonizing  fairies  and  magic 
tours  through  the  past  and  future.  He  saw  that 
he  must  express  it  in  a  myth  ;  but,  since  there 
was  no  existing  myth  that  suited  his  purpose, 
he  had  to  make  one  for  himself.  The  two  chief 
characters  in  his  myth  have  familiar  names  ;  but 
the  story,  as  he  tells  it,  is  mainly  his  own  invention. 
iEschylus,  besides  his  "  Prometheus  Bound,"  wrote 
a  lost  play  upon  the  liberation  of  Prometheus  ; 
but,  as  Shelley  says  in  his  preface,  "  the  '  Pro- 
metheus Unbound '  of  iEschylus  supposed  the 
reconciliation  of  Jupiter  with  his  victim  as  the 
price  of  the  disclosure  of  the  danger  threatened 

196 


" PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND  " 

to  his  empire  by  the  consummation  of  his  marriage 
with  Thetis."  This  story  would  not  have  suited 
Shelley's  purpose  at  all.  "  I  was  averse,"  he 
says,  "  from  a  catastrophe  so  feeble  as  that  of 
reconciling  the  champion  with  the  oppressor  of 
mankind.  The  moral  interest  of  the  fable  .  .  . 
would  be  annihilated  if  we  could  conceive  of 
Prometheus  as  unsaying  his  high  language,  and 
quailing  before  his  successful  and  prefidious 
adversary." 

Shelley  compares  his  Prometheus  to  the  Satan 
of  "  Paradise  Lost  "  ;  but  he  deliberately  makes 
his  arch-rebel  his  hero,  gives  him  all  the  virtues, 
and  ends  the  poem  with  his  triumph.  Thus  his 
myth  is  of  a  new  kind,  and  made  to  express  the 
new  ideas  of  an  age  of  revolution.  But  men  can 
form  new  ideas  of  the  universe  much  more  quickly 
than  they  can  make  new  myths  to  express  them  ; 
and  for  a  poet  not  only  to  treat  a  myth  in  poetry, 
but  also  to  invent  the  myth  itself,  is  a  task  of 
almost  insuperable  difficulty.  The  great  myths 
express,  not  one  man's  experience  of  life,  but  the 
experience  of  multitudes  and  generations.  Shel- 
ley's myth  expressed  only  his  own  rather  limited 
experience  and  his  own  peculiar  ideas,  which 
were  not  so  much  the  result  as  the  cause  of  that 
experience.  He  seems  to  have  been  born  with 
an  overpowering  desire  for  perfection,  and  an 
idea  of  it  by  which  he  tested  all  real  things  and 
found  them  wanting.  It  was  never  his  object  to 
reconcile  himself  to  reality.     Reality  seemed   to 

197 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

him  to  suffer  from  an  organic  disease  of  which  it 
must    be    miraculously    cured    before    he    could 
consent  to  it.     This  idea  of  things  he  expressed 
in  his  myth.     Prometheus  represents  all  that  is 
good  in  suffering  humanity  ;  Jupiter  the  tyrannous 
and  external  evil  by  which  humanity  is  oppressed. 
Jupiter  is  suddenly  and  mysteriously  overthrown, 
and  Prometheus  is  freed.     At  once  the  universe 
is  cured  of  its  disease,  and  all  things  rejoice  in 
common.    This    myth    does    not    express    any 
general  conception  of  the  nature  of  things ;    for 
the  great  mass  of  men,  however  little  they  may 
think  about  the  order  of  the  universe,  have  a 
sense  that  evil  is  in  the  nature  of  man  and  to  some 
extent  his  own  fault,  not  imposed  upon  him  by 
a  celestial  tyrant.     Now  men  will  accept  a  myth 
which    expresses    their    own    conception    of    the 
universe,  even  if  it  explains  nothing.     But  they 
are  not  likely  to  accept  one  which  is  contrary  to 
their  own  conception,  unless  it  not  only  expresses 
but  explains.     Shelley's  myth,  of  course,  explains 
nothing.     How    could    it  ?       He    assumes    the 
wickedness    of     Jupiter    and     the    goodness     of 
Prometheus.     But   Jupiter's  wickedness   has  no 
motive,  and  his  overthrow  is  causeless.     Some- 
thing happens  in  the  middle  of  the  play ;    but 
Shelley  cannot  tell  us  what  it  is,  because  he  does 
not   know.     Demogorgon   appears   and   descends 
with  Jupiter  into  the  abyss  ;   but  we  do  not  learn 
why  he  appears  or  how  he  contrives  the  fall  of 
Jupiter,  or  even  who  he  is,  except  that  he  is 

198 


"PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 

Eternity  and  the  child  of  Jupiter,  as  Jupiter  of 
Saturn. 

The  names  of  Jupiter  and  Prometheus  are 
familiar  to  us,  but  we  are  not  accustomed  to 
think  of  them  as  personifications  of  evil  and  good. 
Therefore  Shelley  could  make  little  or  no  use  of 
whatever  tradition  had  gathered  round  them, 
and  he  was  forced  to  insist  always  upon  the 
qualities  with  which  he  had  chosen  to  invest 
them.  Here  he  was  at  a  great  disadvantage  com- 
pared with  Milton,  who,  in  "  Paradise  Lost,"  was 
not  bound  to  be  for  ever  describing  the  wicked- 
ness of  Satan  since  that  was  taken  for  granted,  and 
who  could  therefore  insist  rather  upon  his  ruined 
splendour  and  perverse  courage.  Shelley's  Jupiter 
had  to  be  wicked  or  nothing  ;  and  he  has  no 
qualities  except  wickedness. 

But  Shelley  knew  nothing  about  wickedness. 
To  him  it  was  an  arbitrary  mystery.  Therefore 
he  was  quite  content  to  represent  it  as  arbitrarily 
overthrown.  In  his  simple,  passionate  view  of  life 
something  must  happen,  sooner  or  later,  to  change 
the  nature  of  things.  Like  an  early  Christian, 
he  looked  forward  to  the  millennium ;  but  not 
being  one  of  an  expectant  community,  nor  living 
in  an  age  of  creative  faith,  he  had  to  make  his 
vision  of  the  millennium  out  of  his  own  single 
imagination.  There  were  no  widespread  rumours 
or  prophecies,  no  general  confidence,  to  which  he 
could  appeal.  Even  the  most  visionary  appeals 
of  his  time  were  made   to  men   to  emancipate 

199 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

themselves  by  revolutions  of  their  own  contriving. 
Shelley's  intellect  could  concern  itself  with  political 
processes,  but  his  imagination  could  not  be  fired 
by  them  ;  that  was  drawn  into  a  desire  for  perfec- 
tion and  a  sudden  supernatural  abolition  of  all 
evil,  and  it  rushed  past  all  consideration  of  the 
means  by  which  this  could  come  about  to  a 
contemplation  of  perfection  itself.  Indeed,  his 
imagination,  naturally  religious,  was  logical  in 
its  disregard  of  the  means  of  deliverance.  Since 
he  conceived  of  evil  as  imposed  on  man  by  a 
supernatural  tyranny,  a  supernatural  revolution 
was  necessary  for  his  deliverance. 

In  the  first  act  Prometheus  is  discovered  bound 
to  a  precipice  in  the  Indian  Caucasus.  There 
are  no  events  except  that  the  curse  is  repeated 
which  long  ago  Prometheus  had  uttered  against 
Jupiter,  and  which  now,  purified  by  suffering,  he 
would  recall ;  also  that  Mercury,  with  the  Furies, 
comes  to  Prometheus,  asks  him  to  tell  his  secret 
and  make  submission  to  Jupiter,  and,  when  he 
refuses,  sets  the  Furies  loose  upon  him.  The 
Furies  torture  him  with  tales  of  how  all  the  good  in 
the  world  is  perverted  to  evil ;  and  then  give  place 
to  a  chorus  of  Spirits  "whose  homes  are  the  dim 
caves  of  human  thought,"  and  who  sing  of  what 
in  human  life  is  prophetic  of  the  good  that  is 
to  be. 

In  the  second  act  there  is  still  less  action. 
Prometheus  does  not  appear  at  all.  The  chief 
characters  are  Asia  and  Panthea,  who,  with  a 

200 


44  PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND  " 

third,  lone,  are  described  in  the  Dramatis  Persona 
as  Oceanides.  It  is  difficult  to  distinguish  between 
them,  except  that  Asia  is  the  lover  of  Prometheus, 
and  mourns  for  him  in  exile  in  a  vale  in  the  Indian 
Caucasus,  where  the  first  scene  of  the  second  act 
takes  place.  To  her  comes  Panthea  and  tells  of 
a  dream  in  which  she  had  seen  Prometheus  trans- 
formed by  love,  and  in  which  he  had  murmured 
Asia's  name.  Asia  looks  into  the  eyes  of  Panthea, 
and  sees  in  them  Prometheus  transformed  as  in 
Panthea' s  dream.  Then  another  dream  of  hers 
appears,  which  she  had  forgotten,  and  calls  on 
them  to  follow  it.  The  dream  passes  into  Pan- 
thea's  mind  and  then  into  Asia's.     In  it — 

"  A  wind  arose  among  the  pines  ;    it  shook 
The  clinging  music  from  their  boughs,  and  then 
Low,  sweet,  faint  sounds,  like  the  farewell  of  ghosts, 
Were  heard  :    O,  follow,  follow,  follow  me!" 

They  hear  echoes  crying  "  Follow,  follow," 
and  pursue  them,  passing  into  a  forest  inter- 
mingled with  rocks  and  caverns.  Here  the 
second  scene  of  the  act  takes  place,  with  wonderful 
songs  of  Spirits,  and  with  a  dialogue  between 
two  young  fauns  about  the  nature  of  those  Spirits. 
Following  the  echo  Asia  and  Panthea  come  to  the 
cave  of  Demogorgon,  which  they  enter,  summoned 
by  a  song  of  Spirits.     There  they  see — 

"  A  mighty  darkness 
Filling  the  seat  of  power,  and  rays  of  gloom 
Dart  round,  as  light  from  the  meridian  sun, 
Ungazed  upon  and  shapeless  ;    neither  limb. 
Nor  form,  nor  outline." 

201 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

This  is  Demogorgon,  and,  in  answer  to  their 
questions,  he  tells  them  that  God  made  the 
living  world  and  all  that  it  contains.  They  ask 
him  "who  made  terror,  madness,  crime,  remorse?  ' 
And  he  answers,  "  He  reigns."  "  Jove  is  the 
supreme  of  living  things."  And  yet  "  All  Spirits 
are  enslaved  that  serve  things  evil."  Therefore 
Jove  miist  be  a  slave.  When  they  ask  who  is  his 
master,  Demogorgon  replies — 

"  If  the  abysm 
Could  vomit  forth  its  secrets.  .  .  .     But  a  voice 
Is  wanting,  the  deep  truth  is  imageless  ; 
For  what  would  it  avail  to  bid  thee  gaze 
On  the  revolving  world  ?     What  to  bid  speak 
Fate,  Time,  Occasion,  Chance  and  Change  ?    To  these 
All  things  are  subject  but  eternal  Love." 

Asia  then  asks  when  the  destined  hour  of  the 
deliverance  of  Prometheus  will  come.  Demo- 
gorgon shows  her  the  Hours,  wild-eyed  charioteers 
driving  rainbow-winged  steeds.  There  is  one 
Spirit  with  a  dreadful  countenance.  Asia  asks 
what  it  is,  and  it  replies — 

"  I  am  the  shadow  of  a  destiny- 
More  dread  than  is  my  aspect :    ere  yon  planet 
Has  set,  the  darkness  which  ascends  with  me 
Shall  wrap  in  lasting  night  heaven's  kingless  throne." 

The  Spirit  ascends  his  chariot,  and  drives  off 
among  the  stars,  "blackening  the  night." 

Another  Spirit  appears  with  "  the  dove-like 
eyes  of  hope,"   and,  for  chariot,  an  ivory  shell 

202 


"PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 

inlaid  with  crimson  fire.  He  carries  Asia  and 
Panthea  away  with  him,  and  the  next  scene  finds 
them  on  the  top  of  a  snowy  mountain.  The 
Spirit  tells  them  that  the  sun  will  not  rise  till 
noon.  Apollo  is  held  in  heaven  by  wonder,  and 
light  is  flowing  from  Asia.  Panthea  looks  at  her, 
and  sees  that  she  is  changed. 

"  I  scarce  endure 
The  radiance  of  thy  beauty.     Some  good  change 
Is  working  in  the  elements,  which  suffer 
Thy  presence  thus  unveiled." 

Then  a  voice  is  heard  in  the  air  singing  that 
most  wonderful  song,  "  Life  of  Life,  thy  lips 
enkindle ! "  And  Asia  replies  with  the  lyric, 
"  My  soul  is  an  enchanted  boat."  So  the  act 
ends. 

The  third  act  opens  in  Heaven.  Jupiter  is 
seated  on  his  throne.  He  exults  in  his  secure 
omnipotence.  Hitherto  only  the  soul  of  man  has 
rebelled  against  it.  But  now  he  has  begotten  a 
strange  wonder — 

' '  Who  waits  but  till  the  destined  hour  arrive, 
Bearing  from  Demogorgon's  vacant  throne 
The  dreadful  might  of  ever-living  limbs 
Which  clothed  that  awful  Spirit  unbeheld, 
To  redescend  and  trample  out  the  spark." 

This  is  his  child  by  Thetis,  whose  incarnation 
he  now  expects.  The  car  of  the  Hours  approaches, 
and  he  hails  its  approach  with  cries  of  victory. 
But  there  descends  from  it  Demogorgon  himself. 

203 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Jupiter  asks  him  what  he  is,  and  he  replies — 

"  Eternity.     Demand  no  direr  name. 
Descend,  and  follow  me  down  the  abyss. 
I  am  thy  child  as  thou  wert  Saturn's  child  ; 
Mightier  than  thee  :    and  we  must  dwell  together 
Henceforth  in  darkness." 

Jupiter,  after  a  brief  defiance,  cries  for  mercy ; 
but  in  vain,  and  the  two  together — 

"  Sink  on  the  wide  waves  of  ruin, 
Even  as  a  vulture  and  a  snake  outspent 
Drop,  twisted  in  inextricable  fight, 
Into  a  shoreless  sea." 

In  the  next  scene  there  is  a  short  dialogue 
between  Apollo  and  Ocean,  in  which  Apollo  tells 
of  the  fall  of  Jupiter,  and  Ocean,  in  beautiful 
lines,  says  that  she  will  no  longer  be  vexed  with 
tempests.  In  the  third  scene  Prometheus  is 
unbound  by  Hercules  in  the  presence  of  Asia, 
Panthea,  lone,  the  Earth  and  other  Spirits. 
Prometheus  tells  how  he  will  spend  his  happiness 
with  Asia,  and  orders  the  Spirit  of  the  Hour  to 
travel  round  the  world  in  her  car,  sounding  the 
music  of  deliverance.  The  Earth  says  that 
henceforth  all  her  children  shall  live  in  happiness 
together — 

"  Night-folded  flowers 
Shall  suck  unwithering  hues  in  their  repose  : 
And  men  and  beasts  in  happy  dreams  shall  gather 
Strength  for  the  coming  day  and  all  its  joy  : 
And  death  shall  be  the  last  embrace  of  her 
Who  takes  the  life  she  gave,  even  as  a  mother 
Folding  her  child,  says  '  Leave  me  not  again.'  ' 

204 


II 


PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 


Asia  asks  whether  the  dead  cease  to  love  and 
move,  and  breathe  and  speak.  The  Earth  says 
it  would  avail  not  to  reply — 

"  Thou  art  immortal,  and  this  tongue  is  known 
But  to  the  uncommunicating  dead. 
Death  is  the  veil  which  those  who  live  call  life  : 
They  sleep,  and  it  is  lifted." 

Then  the  Earth  tells  them  of  a  cave  where  there 
is  a  temple  built  by  men  who  became  mad,  inhaling 
the  madness  of  the  Earth  herself  in  the  evil  time. 
Now  that  madness  is  past,  and  a  Spirit  shall 
guide  them  to  the  cave.  The  Spirit  appears  in 
the  likeness  of  a  winged  child,  and  in  the  fourth 
scene  Prometheus,  Asia,  Panthea,  lone,  and  the 
Spirit  of  the  Earth  are  in  front  of  the  cave.  Pan- 
thea tells  how  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth,  in  the  time 
before  the  tyranny  of  Jupiter,  had  loved  Asia — 

"  And  with  her 
It  made  its  childish  confidence,  and  told  her 
All  it  had  known  or  seen,  for  it  saw  much, 
Yet  idly  reasoned  what  it  saw." 

The  Spirit  of  the  Earth  now  joyfully  returns 
to  Asia,  and  tells  of  the  wonderful  change  that 
has  come  over  the  world.  Then  the  Spirit  of  the 
Hour  enters  and  tells  of  the  same  change,  and 
how  thrones,  altars,  judgment-seats,  and  prisons 
now  stand,  not  overthrown,  but  unregarded. 

So  the  act  ends.  The  fourth  act  was  an  after- 
thought. Shelley  wrote  it,  no  doubt,  that  he 
might  have  full  scope  for  expressing  the  rapture 

205 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  the  delivered  universe.  It  is  like  the  finale  of  a 
symphony,  with  variety  of  form  but  none  of  emo- 
tion, except  what  comes  from  contrasting  present 
good  with  past  evil.  There  is  a  long  duet  between 
the  Earth  and  the  Moon,  each  echoing  the  delight 
of  the  other ;  and  at  the  end  of  it  Demogorgon 
addresses  them  both,  and  all  the  stars,  and  the 
happy  dead,  and  the  elemental  genii — 

"  Who  have  homes 
From  man's  high  mind  even  to  the  central  stone 
Of  sullen  lead  ;    from  Heaven's  star-fretted  domes 
To  the  dull  weed  some  sea-worm  battens  on." 

And  all  beasts  and  birds,  and  leaves  and  buds, 
and  the  lightning  and  wind,  and  last  of  all — 

"  Man  who  wert  once  a  despot  and  a  slave  ; 
A  dupe  and  a  deceiver  ;    a  decay  ; 
A  traveller  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave 

Through  the  dim  night  of  this  immortal  day." 

His  addresses  end  the  poem  with  the  praise  of 
Prometheus. 

This  short  account  of  "  Prometheus  Unbound  " 
will  show  how  Shelley  was  often  hard  put  to  it  to 
make  anything  happen  at  all.  There  is  only  one 
great  event,  namely,  the  fall  of  Jupiter,  and  that  is 
causeless ;  nor  are  we  made  to  understand  how 
or  why  it  produces  the  effects  which  come  of  it. 
Apart  from  this  there  is  movement  but  not  action. 
The  characters  drift  about  in  magic  cars  or  led 
by  Echoes  and  Spirits.  And  most  of  them  are  so 
abstract   that  we  do  not  even  know  who  they 

206 


" PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND  " 

are  or  what  relation  they  bear  to  each  other. 
There  is  no  explanation  of  Asia,  Panthea,  and 
lone  except  that  they  are  sister  Oceanides  and 
that  Asia  loves  Prometheus.  Even  the  significance 
of  their  names  is  obscure.  Then  there  are  Earth 
and  Ocean  and  the  Spirits  of  the  Earth  and  of  the 
Moon  ;  and,  since  the  Earth  herself  is  personified, 
it  is  difficult  to  find  a  distinction  between  her  and 
the  Spirit  of  the  Earth.  These  characters  are 
uninteresting  in  themselves  because  they  tell  us 
nothing  about  themselves,  and  because  Shelley 
seems  to  know  nothing  about  them. 

There  are  episodes  that  seem  to  be  mere  pretexts 
for  lyrical  poetry,  such  as  that  in  the  first  and 
second  scenes  of  the  second  act,  when  Asia  and 
Panthea  are  led  by  echoes  to  the  cave  of  Demo- 
gorgon,  and  choruses  of  Spirits  sing  wonderful  songs 
about  their  way.  And  when  they  find  Demogorgon 
and  question  him  about  the  nature  of  the  universe, 
he  of  course  can  tell  them  no  more  than  Shelley 
knows,  so  that  little  comes  of  their  visit.  Through- 
out the  poem  there  are  attempts  to  explain  things, 
which  only  leave  the  reader  bewildered  and  un- 
satisfied, like  the  same  attempts  in  "  Paradise 
Lost."  Poets,  like  other  writers,  must  fail  when 
they  try  to  tell  us  what  they  do  not  know  them- 
selves. 

Shelley  lacked,  more  than  most  poets,  that 
kind  of  knowledge  which  is  needed  for  the  repre- 
sentation of  action  ;  and  whatever  action  there  is 
in  "  Prometheus  "  belongs  to  a  state  of  being  about 

207 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

which  no  man  could  know  anything.  We  cannot 
therefore  regard  the  poem  as  a  drama  ;  and  the 
question  arises  whether  it  has  any  form  at  all,  or 
whether  the  plot  is  only  a  pretext  for  a  number 
of  separate  poems.  Now  the  great  value  of  form 
in  a  work  of  art  is  that  it  gives  cumulative  power 
to  all  the  parts  and  details  of  that  work.  They 
are  not  there  for  their  own  sakes  but  in  the  accom- 
plishment of  a  purpose  outside  them,  and  their 
beauties  please  us  the  more  as  we  see  them  in 
relation  to  that  purpose.  Therefore,  before  we 
dogmatize  about  the  lack  of  form  in  "  Prome- 
theus," we  must  consider  whether  the  poem  has 
any  cumulative  power ;  and  no  one,  I  think,  can 
read  it  without  seeing  that  it  has.  This  cumu- 
lative power  does  not  come  from  the  action,  but 
from  the  emotion  which  the  characters  and  the 
plot  are  a  mere  machinery  for  expressing. 

Shelley  himself  called  the  poem  a  lyrical  drama, 
and  it  is,  in  fact,  one  extended  and  diversified 
lyric,  uttered  now  by  one  singer,  now  by  another, 
and  now  by  choruses.  And  as  in  a  lyric  of  ordinary 
length  we  have  to  assume,  or  to  gather  from  slight 
suggestions,  the  cause  of  the  emotion  expressed, 
so  in  "  Prometheus  "  we  have  really  to  assume  the 
action  and  the  circumstances  which  are  pretexts 
for  the  expression  of  emotion. 

There  is  always  a  tendency  in  the  poetic  drama 
to  become  lyrical,  to  concern  itself  more  with 
emotional  effects  than  with  the  action  that  causes 
them  ;    and  the  more  lyrical  a  drama  becomes, 

208 


"  PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND  " 

the  nearer  it  approaches  to  music,  and  particularly 
to  the  symphony.  V  Prometheus  "  is  nearer  to 
music  than  any  other  drama  I  know,  and  in  form 
it  is  nearer  to  symphony  than  to  drama.  In  a 
symphony  we  often  hear  one  movement  expressing 
trouble  and  desire,  followed  by  another  expressing 
attainment  and  delight,  without,  of  course,  any 
expression  of  the  means  by  which  desire  is  accom- 
plished. Yet  the  movements  are  related  to  each 
other,  because  the  same  desire  which  is  expressed 
in  one  is  accomplished  in  the  other.  There  is,  in 
fact,  a  unity  and  a  cumulative  power  of  emotion  ; 
and  there  seems  to  me  to  be  the  same  unity 
and  cumulative  power  in  "Prometheus."  Being 
poetry  and  not  music,  it  is,  of  course,  to  be  judged 
as  poetry.;  and,  as  I  have  tried  to  show,  it  fails  to 
solve  some  of  the  problems  peculiar  to  that  art, 
or  at  least,  to  the  form  of  that  art  in  which  it 
is  written. 

But  Shelley  was  a  great  innovator  in  poetry. 
He  brought  it  nearer  to  music  than  it  had  ever 
been  brought  before,  nearer  to  a  complete  fusion 
of  emotion  and  idea.  And  innovators  are  sure 
to  have  trouble  with  their  machinery,  especially 
when  they  are  young  and  inexperienced.  The 
machinery  of  "  Prometheus  "  belongs  to  the  past, 
and  Shelley  could  only  adapt  it  very  imperfectly 
to  his  purpose.  That  purpose  was  to  present 
idea  and  emotion  all  in  one.  He  was  not  content 
with  lyrical  poetry  of  pure  emotion  ;  more  than 
any  other  poet  he  was  moved  to  emotion  by  ideas, 
T4  209 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

and  that  is  the  reason  why  his  emotions  were  so 
persistent   and   needed   a   long   poem   for   their 
expression.     Other  poets  have  been    moved    to 
different  emotions  by  particular  events  and  experi- 
ences, and  have  expressed  them  either  in  short 
lyrics   or    in    incidental   passages   of   drama   or 
narrative.     Thought    and    experience    and    the 
spectacle  of  the  universe  all  continually  aroused  the 
same  emotion  in  Shelley,  because  he  was  always 
possessed  by  the  same  ideal.    All  emotions  are 
caused  by  a  comparison  of  the  real  with  the  ideal, 
and  are  delightful  when  the  real  seems  to  harmonize 
with  the  ideal,  and  painful  when  there  is  a  discord 
between   them.     In   Shelley's  mind   ideals  were 
always  predominant  and  always  the  same,  inces- 
santly compared  with  the  real,  and  incessantly 
producing     the     same    emotion    through    that 
comparison.    He  was  like  an  angel  strayed  on  to 
the  earth,   and  by  all  experience  provoked  to 
contrast  his  present  state  with  his  past.    He  has 
been  called  a  visionary,  but  he  was  not  one  of 
those  visionaries  who  shut  themselves  up  with 
their   own   ideal    away   from   reality.    He   was 
always  in  fierce  conflict  with  a  great  part  of 
reality,  and  out  of  that  conflict  came  the  experience 
and  emotion  which  he  expressed  in  "  Prometheus." 
The  central  idea  of  "  Prometheus  " — that  the 
world  is  sick  of  an  organic  disease,  and  can  only 
be  cured  by  a  miracle — has  been  expressed  in 
many  religions.     But  the  notion  that  this  disease 
is  the  result  of  a  celestial  tyranny — and  that  not 

210 


"PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 

man  alone,  but  everything  in  the  universe,  suffers 
from  it — is  peculiar  to  Shelley,  and  the  result  of 
his  extreme  idealism.  He  could  accept  nothing 
as  it  is  ;  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  the  fact 
that  there  are  poisonous  plants.  Therefore  when 
Jupiter  falls,  and  the  great  change  comes  over  the 
universe,  the  Spirit  of  the  Earth  tells  how — 

"  O'er  a  lake 
Upon  a  drooping  bough  with  nightshade  twined, 
I  saw  two  azure  halcyons  clinging  downward 
And  thinning  one  bright  bunch  of  amber  berries, 
With  quick  long  beaks,  and  in  the  deep  there  lay 
Those  lovely  forms  imaged  as  in  a  sky." 

It  was  not  enough  that  there  should  be  a  sweet 
peal  of  music  at  midnight,  and  all  the  people  should 
come  into  the  streets  transfigured  with  a  new 
beauty ;  there  must  also  be  no  more  poison  in  night- 
shade berries,  and  no  more  tempests  on  the  sea. 

But  his  passion  for  perfection  expressed  itself 
also  in  another  idea  of  greater  intellectual  value, 
namely,  that  the  highest  beauties  and  excellences 
of  this  life  are  prophetic  of  a  nobler  state  of  being. 
In  this  idea  he  was  nearer  to  an  understanding  of  the 
promise  of  universal  imperfection  ;  for  it  is  through 
the  universality  of  imperfection,  and  the  infinite 
variety  in  the  quality  of  all  things  which  it  implies, 
that  we  are  continually  led  to  compare  the  better 
with  the  worse,  and  to  aim  at  the  better.  The 
finest  things  are,  indeed,  prophetic  to  us  of  what 
all  life  may  some  day  be.  Thus,  when  the  Furies 
have  tortured  Prometheus  by  revealing  to  him 

211 


SHELLEY  :  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

how  the  highest  hopes  come  to  nought  and  good 
is  perverted  into  evil,  how  the  French  Revolution 
became  the  Terror,  and  how  men  have  persecuted 
in  the  name  of  Christ,  the  Earth  to  comfort  him 
summons — 

"  Those  subtle  and  fair  Spirits, 
Whose  homes  are  the  dim  caves  of  human  thought, 
And  who  inhabit,  as  birds  wing  the  wind, 
Its  world-surrounding  ether.     They  behold 
Beyond  that  twilight  realm,  as  in  a  glass, 
The  future." 

The  first  Spirit  comes  on  a  trumpet's  blast,  and 
tells  of  the  soul  of  love  triumphing  over  all  the 
confused  sounds  of  battle.  The  second  comes 
from  a  shipwreck — 

"  On  the  sigh 
Of  one  who  gave  an  enemy 
His  plank,  then  plunged  aside  to  die." 

The  third  comes  borne  by  a  dream  from  a  sage's 
bed.  And  the  fourth  sings,  perhaps,  the  most 
beautiful  song  that  Shelley  ever  made  : — 

"  On  a  poet's  lips  I  slept 
Dreaming  like  a  love-adept 
In  the  sound  his  breathing  kept ; 
Nor  seeks  nor  finds  he  mortal  blisses, 
But  feeds  on  the  aereal  kisses 
Of  shapes  that  haunt  thought's  wildernesses. 
He  will  watch  from  dawn  to  gloom 
The  lake-reflected  sun  illume 
The  yellow  bees  in  the  ivy  bloom, 
Nor  heed  nor  see,  what  things  they  be  ; 
But  from  these  create  he  can 
Forms  more  real  than  living  man, 
Nurslings  of  immortality." 

212 


"  PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND  " 

Here  Shelley  speaks  for  himself  and  out  of  his 
own  experience,  showing  us  how  beautiful  things 
were  indeed  to  him  prophetic  of  a  nobler  life 
because  of  their  beauty,  and  how  he  could  trans- 
form that  beauty  into  the  music  of  his  verse, 
so  that  nothing  of  what  he  had  seen  remained  in 
it  except  beauty.  "  Prometheus  "  is  an  attempt 
to  treat  the  whole  universe  in  this  way,  and 
consists  entirely  of  transformations  and  rejections, 
all  made  according  to  one  persistent  ideal. 

Needless  to  say,  Shelley  is  happier  when  he 
transforms  than  when  he  rejects.  He  could  not 
make  poetry  out  of  the  conflict  and  mixture  of 
good  and  evil  in  our  nature.  But  he  treats  of 
pure  beauty  with  a  tranquillity  new  in  his  poetry, 
and  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  English  poet 
except  Milton.  Here  is  a  passage  in  which  Ocean 
speaks  after  the  fall  of  Jupiter  has  given  her 
eternal  calm : — 

"  The  loud  deep  calls  me  home  even  now  to  feed  it 
With  azure  calm  out  of  the  emerald  urns 
Which  stand  for  ever  full  beside  my  throne. 
Behold  the  Nereids  under  the  green  sea, 
Their  wavering  limbs  borne  on  the  wind-like  stream, 
Their  white  arms  lifted  o'er  their  streaming  hair 
With  garlands  pied  and  starry  sea-flower  crowns, 
Hastening  to  grace  their  mighty  sister's  joy." 

Macaulay  said  that  Shelley  possessed  some  of 
the  highest  qualities  of  the  great  ancient  writers ; 
and  it  is  true  that  at  his  best  he  is  rather  a  classical 
than  a  romantic  poet,  that  he  simplifies  and 
concentrates  like  no  other  poet  of  his  time,  that 

213 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

his  music  is  divinely  clear  rather  than  rich.  In 
his  preface  to  "  Prometheus  "  he  says  that  his 
imagery  "will  be  found  in  many  instances  to 
have  been  drawn  from  the  operations  of  the 
human  mind  or  from  those  external  actions  by 
which  they  are  expressed,"  and  that  in  this  he 
follows  the  example  of  the  Greek  poets.  There 
is  a  fine  example  of  this  in  the  third  scene  of  the 
second  act,  where  he  speaks  of — 

"  The  sun-awakened  avalanche,  whose  mass. 
Thrice  sifted  by  the  storm,  had  gathered  there 
Flake  after  flake,  in  heaven-defying  minds 
As  thought  by  thought  is  piled,  till  some  great  truth 
Is  loosened,  and  the  nations  echo  round, 
Shaken  to  their  roots,  as  do  the  mountains  now." 

But  he  carries  the  process  much  farther  in  those 
passages  where  he  imparts  humanity  to  natural 
forces  in  metaphor  so  instinctive  that  it  seems  to 
be  direct  statement — 

"  The  pale  stars  are  gone  ! 
For  the  sun,  their  swift  shepherd, 
To  their  folds  them  compelling, 
In  the  depths  of  the  dawn, 
Hastes  in  meteor-eclipsing  array,  and  they  flee 
Beyond  his  blue  dwelling, 
As  fawns  flee  the  leopard." 

This  has  been  quoted  as  an  instance  of 
Shelley's  myth-making  power  ;  and  it  was  indeed 
natural  to  him  to  make  myths,  because  the  life 
of  nature  seemed  to  him  as  real  and  intense  as  the 
life  of  man,  and  he  almost  made  friends  with  the 
sun  and  the  stars,  and  the  winds,  and  the  clouds, 

214 


u 


PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 


as  some  men  made  friends  with  wild  animals. 
But  as  he  seems  to  impart  humanity  to  the  forces 
of  nature,  so  also,  at  his  heights  of  inspiration, 
he  can  write  of  his  personifications  as  if  they  were 
natural  things  like  the  sun  or  the  clouds.  All  the 
scenery  described  in  "  Prometheus  "  is  not  mere 
surplusage.  Prometheus  seems  to  belong  to  it 
and  to  have  grown  out  of  it ;  and  often  the 
characters  of  the  poem  seem  to  be  fading  away 
like  mists  among  its  forests  and  mountains,  or  to 
be  only  the  voices  of  nature  made  articulate.  And 
at  the  highest  point  of  his  inspiration,  when  a 
voice  in  the  air  sings  the  miraculous  song,  "  Life  of 
Life,"  he  imagines  a  being  that  seems  to  be  ideal- 
ized from  nature  almost  as  much  as  from  man  : — 

"  Child  of  light,  thy  limbs  are  burning 
Through  the  vest  which  seems  to  hide  them  ; 
As  the  radiant  lines  of  morning 
Through  the  clouds  ere  they  divide  them  ; 
And  this  atmosphere  divinest 
Shrouds  thee  wheresoe'er  thou  shinest." 

This  is  sung  when  the  universe  is  close  on  its 
regeneration,  and  the  imagination  of  Shelley  seems 
to  be  pained  by  the  intensity  of  its  effort  to  leap 
at  a  bound  from  the  imperfect  reality  to  the 
perfect  ideal.  He  was  always  apt  to  empty  the 
universe  of  everything  except  himself  and  the 
ideal ;  and  when  he  had  done  this  he  was  filled 
with  the  fright  of  loneliness,  and  thought  of  him- 
self as  drawn  to  the  ideal  like  a  moth  to  a  candle 
out  of  the  empty  night,  as  one  who  had  travelled 

215 


SHELLEY :  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

too  far  and  high  for  a  man  still  subject  to  the  laws 
of  this  life,  and  as  likely  to  perish  like  the  first 
adventurer  into  an  unknown  world : — 

"  Lamp  of  earth,  where'er  thou  movest 
Its  dim  shapes  are  clad  with  brightness, 
And  the  souls  of  whom  thou  lovest 
Walk  upon  the  winds  with  lightness, 
Till  they  fail,  as  I  am  failing, 
Dizzy,  lost,  yet  unbewailing." 

In  the  last  act  of  pure  rejoicing  the  characters 
seem  to  be  voices  of  nature  more  than  ever  before. 
Shelley  has  very  little  notion  what  mankind  will 
do  in  their  millennium.  He  had  not,  like  William 
Morris,  imagined  a  Utopia  in  which  men  should 
enjoy  their  daily  work.  Prometheus,  as  soon  as  he 
is  released,  describes  a  cave — 

"  All  overgrown  with  trailing  odorous  plants, 
Which  curtain  out  the  day  with  leaves  and  flowers. 
And  paved  with  veined  emerald,  and  a  fountain 
Leaps  in  the  midst  with  an  awakening  sound." 

Here  he  will  retire  with  the  Oceanides,  and  here, 
he  says,  like  Lear  with  Cordelia — 

"  We  will  sit  and  talk  of  time  and  change, 
As  the  world  ebbs  and  flows,  ourselves  unchanged. 
What  can  hide  man  from  mutability  ? 
And  if  ye  sigh,  then  I  will  smile  ;    and  thou, 
lone,  shalt  chant  fragments  of  sea-music, 
Until  I  weep,  when  ye  shall  smile  away 
The  tears  she  brought,  which  yet  were  sweet  to  shed. 
We  will  entangle  buds  and  flowers  and  beams 
Which  twinkle  on  the  fountain's  brim,  and  make 
Strange  combinations  out  of  common  things, 
Like  human  babes  in  their  brief  innocence." 

2l6 


"PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND" 

It  is  beautiful ;  but  we  must  assume  that  ennui 
had  accompanied  Jupiter  down  to  the  abyss. 

It  is  a  significant  fact  that  the  poorest  part  of 
the  last  act  is  the  chorus  of  Spirits  "from  the 
mind  of  human  kind."  Their  rejoicing  seems  to 
be  forced,  and  their  music  sometimes  mechanical. 
Even  the  long  duet  between  the  Earth  and  the 
Moon  grows  most  beautiful  when  the  Earth  forgets 
all  about  her  human  inhabitants,  and  when  the 
Moon  makes  a  myth  about  herself.  She  feels  life 
coming  back  to  her,  and  describes  it  so  that  her 
very  atmosphere  seems  to  quicken : — 

"  Green  stalks  burst  forth,  and  bright  flowers  grow, 
And  living  shapes  upon  my  bosom  move  : 

Music  is  in  the  sea  and  air, 

Winged  clouds  soar  here  and  there, 
Dark  with  the  rain  new  buds  are  dreaming  of." 

After  her  last  wild  outburst  of  song  the  Earth 
answers — 

"  Oh,  gentle  Moon,  the  voice  of  thy  delight 
Falls  on  me  like  thy  clear  and  tender  light 
Soothing  the  seaman,  borne  the  summer  night, 
Through  isles  for  ever  calm." 

This  is  like  the  music  of  Mozart,  in  which  the 
divine  beauty  of  delight  is  enhanced  by  remem- 
brance of  pain  ;  and  no  poet  or  musician — not 
even  Shelley,  or  Mozart  himself — can  come 
nearer  to  Heaven  than  this,  or  give  us  light 
without  the  foil  of  darkness,  or  joy  without  the 
memory  of  sorrow.     But  the  rapture  of  Shelley 

217 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

does  not  move  us  to  tears,  like  the  rapture  of 
Mozart,  because  there  seems  to  be  less  of  human 
experience   in   it.    There   is   no   masterpiece   in 
another  art  which  reminds  one  so  much  of  the 
last  act  of  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  as  the  two 
great  frescoes  of  Correggio.     His  rejoicing  angels 
seem  to  be  as  much  untouched  by  human  experience 
as   Shelley's  rejoicing   voices,   and  his   "  Young 
Apostle  "  might  be  Shelley's  triumphant  "  Pro- 
metheus."   Both  Correggio  and  Shelley  in  their 
raptures  escaped  from  reality.     Shelley  tried  to 
compose  a  drama  with  neither  death  nor  marriage 
for  its  end,  nor  any  solution  short  of  universal 
felicity ;    and  of  course  he  failed.    For  drama 
proceeds  by  action,  and  he  could  conceive  of  no 
action    that    would    produce    universal    felicity. 
But,  by  the  intensity  of  his  effort  to  represent  it, 
he  produced  beauties  beyond  the  reach  of  artists 
who  attempt  the  possible.    Success  would  have 
meant   a   work  emptied  of  all  reality,   a  mere 
abstraction,  like  a  perfect  circle.     In  his  failure 
he  expressed  that  very  conflict  which  he  tried  to 
transcend ;    and  it  is  curious  that  in  the  last 
stanzas  of  the  poem  he  seems  to  recognize  this, 
and  to  make  an  exultant  submission  to  the  laws 
of  reality  : — 

"  To  suffer  woes  which  Hope  thinks  infinite  ; 
To  forgive  wrongs  darker  than  death  or  night ; 

To  defy  Power,  which  seems  omnipotent ; 
To  love,  and  bear  ;    to  hope  till  Hope  creates 
From  its  own  wreck  the  thing  it  contemplates  ; 
Neither  to  change,  nor  falter,  nor  repent ; 

2l8 


(i 


PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 


This,  like  thy  glory,  Titan,  is  to  be 

Good,  great  and  joyous,  beautiful  and  free  ; 

This  is  alone  Life,  Joy,  Empire  and  Victory." 

Wonder  has  been  expressed  that  Shelley  should 
in  the  same  year  have  produced  two  works  so 
unlike  each   other  as   "  Prometheus  Unbound " 
and  "The  Cenci."     It  was  certainly  a  great  feat, 
but  rather  of  energy  than  of  versatility  ;  for  they 
are  more  alike  than  one  might  suppose.    True, 
the  subject  of  "  Prometheus  "  is  a  myth  invented 
by  the  poet,  and  the  subject  of  "The  Cenci"  is 
a  story  of  real  life.     But  in  each  a  fearful  wrong 
is  inflicted  upon  a  virtuous  being  by  a  tyrant  of 
inexplicable    wickedness.    Count    Cenci    is    only 
Jupiter   in   another   set    of   circumstances,    and 
Beatrice  only  Prometheus.    The  end  is  different, 
like  the  circumstances ;    but  there  is  the  same 
conception   of  evil,   and  the  same  blind  revolt 
against  it.     In  "  The  Cenci  "  Shelley  does  not  try 
to  escape  from  reality  ;  but  he  represents  it,  as  in 
the  first  part  of  "  Prometheus,"  as  suffering  from 
an  organic  disease  which  could  only  be  cured  by 
a  miracle.    The  difference  is  that  in  "  The  Cenci  " 
the  miracle  does  not  happen. 

The  story  of  the  play  is  very  simple.  Count 
Cenci,  a  monster  of  wickedness,  hates  all  his 
children.  He  exults  in  the  death  of  two  of  his 
sons  and  violates  his  daughter,  rather  because  he 
wishes  to  do  her  an  intolerable  wrong  than  from 
incestuous  desire.  She  resolves  to  have  him 
murdered,  and  hires  two  bravoes  to  murder  him. 

219 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

The  papal  legate  arrives,  just  after  the  Count's 
death,  and  the  bravoes  are  discovered.  One  of 
them  dies  fighting  ;  the  other  is  captured,  and, 
under  torture,  confesses  that  the  murder  had  been 
commissioned  by  Beatrice.  The  Pope  will  not 
pardon  her,  in  spite  of  her  wrongs,  because,  being 
an  old  man,  he  has  a  peculiar  fear  of  parricide, 
and  because  Count  Cenci  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  paying  vast  sums  for  the  pardon  of  his  mis- 
deeds. The  play  ends  just  before  the  execution  of 
Beatrice. 

Shelley  himself  says  that  the  story  of  "  The 
Cenci "  is  fearful  and  monstrous,  and  that  any- 
thing like  a  dry  exhibition  of  it  on  the  stage  would 
be  insupportable.  In  a  letter  to  Peacock  he 
compares  it  with  the  story  of  "  (Edipus."  But 
there  is  this  difference  between  the  two,  that  the 
incest  of  u  (Edipus  "  is  an  event  that  happened 
before  the  "(Edipus  Tyrannus "  begins.  The 
incest  of  Count  Cenci  is  the  central  event  of  the 
play.  The  incest  of  (Edipus  was  committed  in 
ignorance  ;  it  has,  therefore,  nothing  to  do  with 
his  character ;  and  we  are  not  expected  to  take 
any  interest  in  it,  but  only  in  the  results  of  its 
discovery.  Thus  the  same  objection  does  not 
apply  to  it  as  to  the  incest  of  Count  Cenci,  namely, 
that  it  is  an  action  which  cannot  be  dramatically 
treated.  There  is  no  attempt  to  treat  it  drama- 
tically in  the  "  (Edipus  Tyrannus,"  because  it 
belongs  to  the  past.  But  in  "The  Cenci"  it 
belongs  to  the  present,  and  is  the  chief  act  of  the 

220 


"PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND" 

villain,  the  act  upon  which  the  whole  play  turns. 
Shelley  says  in  his  preface  that  "  Such  a  story, 
if  told  so  as  to  present  to  the  reader  all  the  feelings 
of  those  who  once  acted  it,  their  hopes  and  fears, 
their  confidences  and  misgivings,  their  various 
interests,  passions,  and  opinions,  acting  upon,  and 
with  each  other,  yet  all  conspiring  to  one  tremen- 
dous end,  would  be  as  a  light  to  make  apparent 
some  of  the  most  dark  and  secret  caverns  of  the 
human  heart."  Yet  he  has  chosen  a  story  which 
he  cannot  tell  in  such  a  way.  He  must  and  does 
leave  all  the  motives  of  Count  Cenci  obscure,  and 
also  most  of  the  effects  of  his  crime  upon  Beatrice. 
He  can,  indeed,  only  hint  darkly  at  the  nature 
of  that  crime.  In  fact,  the  central  event  of  the  play 
is  disguised  in  eloquent  verse,  just  like  the  central 
event  of  "Prometheus";  and  for  the  same 
reason,  namely,  that  the  poet  knows  nothing 
about  it. 

Shelley,  as  I  have  said,  did  not  understand 
wickedness  at  all.  Therefore  he  was  not  fit  to 
write  a  play  about  it.  He  chose  a  piece  of 
inexplicable  wickedness  for  his  subject  just 
because  of  this  lack  of  understanding.  What 
interested  him  was  not  the  nature  and  causes  of 
that  wickedness,  but  merely  its  enormity  ;  for 
that  seemed  to  him  typical  of  the  present  condi- 
tion of  the  universe.  His  Count  Cenci  has  no 
feeling  that  he  is  out  of  harmony  with  God. 
Indeed,  he  speaks  of  God  as  if  he  were  the  Jupiter 
of  "  Prometheus  Unbound  "  : — 

221 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

"  My  soul,  which  is  a  scourge,  will  I  resign 
Into  the  hands  of  Him  who  wielded  it  ; 
Be  it  for  its  own  punishment  or  theirs, 
He  will  not  ask  it  of  me  till  the  lash 
Be  broken  in  its  last  and  deepest  wound  ; 
Until  its  hate  be  all  inflicted." 

And  again — 

"I  do  not  feel  as  if  I  were  a  man, 
But  like  a  fiend  appointed  to  chastise 
The  offences  of  some  unremembered  world." 

In  fact,  he  expresses,  not  the  real  workings  of  a 
wicked  mind,  but  Shelley's  view  of  wickedness — 
as  something  imposed  upon  the  world  by  a  super- 
natural tyranny.  He  is  the  willing  servant  of 
the  tyrant,  while  the  good  are  all  rebels  against 
him.  He  delights  in  crime  for  its  own  sake,  as 
if  it  were  the  satisfaction  of  desire,  and,  when 
about  to  commit  crime,  speaks  like  Troilus  just 
before  he  is  admitted  to  Cressida  : — 

u  My  blood  is  running  up  and  down  my  veins  ; 
A  fearful  pleasure  makes  it  prick  and  tingle. 
I  feel  a  giddy  sickness  of  strange  awe  ; 
My  heart  is  beating  with  an  expectation 
Of  horrid  joy." 

When  a  poet  writes  of  what  he  hates,  but  does 
not  understand,  he  falls  naturally  into  rhetoric. 
"  The  Cenci,"  therefore,  consists  mainly  of  rhetoric. 
It  has  been  called  the  finest  English  tragedy  of 
modern  times ;  and  it  certainly  is  the  finest 
Elizabethan  tragedy  of  modern  times.  For 
Elizabethan  tragedy,  except  at  its  highest  moments, 

222 


tc 


PROMETHEUS  UNBOUND" 


was   rhetorical,    and    Shelley   reproduced    Eliza- 
bethan   rhetoric    with    extraordinary    ease    and 
skill.    But  Elizabethan  tragedy  had  been  dead 
for  nearly  two  hundred  years  when  he  tried  to 
write  it,  and  he  could  not  bring  it  to  life  again. 
The  Elizabethan  rhetoric  was  often  an  ornate  and 
elaborate  expression  of  what  real  men  and  women 
would  say  or  think  in  the  circumstances  contrived 
by  the  dramatist.     But  Shelley's  rhetoric,  though 
more  beautiful  perhaps  than  any  except  Shake- 
speare's, has  usually  no  relation  to  reality.     "  The 
Cenci  "  is  a  wonderful  tour  deforce,  but  we  cannot 
believe  in  anything  that  happens  in  it.     Indeed, 
it  is  far  more  unreal  than  "  Prometheus  "  ;  for  in 
'  Prometheus  "  Shelley  was  frequently  expressing 
his  own    emotion  and  experience,  but  in  "  The 
Cenci"  seldom.    He  said  that  he  had  "avoided 
with  great  care,  in  writing  this  play,  the  intro- 
duction of  what  is  commonly  called  mere  poetry  "  ; 
and  it  is  true  that  he  attends  to  business  through- 
out.    But  it  is  a  business  he  does  not  understand  ; 
and  his  characters  talk  about  that  business  as  if 
they  were  observing  it  like  eloquent  but  inexperi- 
enced poets,  not  as  if  they  were  actors  in  it.     In 
the  trial  scene  Beatrice  reminds  us  of  Vittoria 
Corombona  in  the  trial  scene  of  Webster's  "  White 
Devil,"  and  very  likely  Shelley  also  remembered 
Webster   when   he   wrote   it.    Webster   is   very 
rhetorical ;   but  his    Vittoria    is    a  real    woman, 
and   speaks   like    one    through    all   disguises   of 
rhetoric  : — 

223 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

"  Turn  up  my  faults,  I  pray,  and  you  shall  find 
That  beauty,  and  gay  clothes,  a  merry  heart, 
And  a  good  stomach  to  a  feast  are  all, 
All  the  poor  crimes  that  you  can  charge  me  with. 
In  faith,  my  lord,  you  might  go  pistol  flies  ; 
The  sport  would  be  more  noble." 

Beatrice  talks  finer  poetry,  and  argues  with 
great  skill  and  spirit,  but  she  might  be  an  eloquent 
advocate  in  another's  cause.  There  is  no  char- 
acter in  what  she  says,  and,  therefore,  it  is  not 
interesting  because  she  says  it.  Her  speech  about 
death  is  almost  as  beautiful  as  the  famous  speech 
of  Claudio  in  "  Measure  for  Measure."  But  the 
first  part  of  it  might  be  made  by  anyone  who  was 
young  and  about  to  die  ;  and  the  second  part, 
when  she  fears  lest  she  shall  meet  her  father's 
spirit  beyond  the  grave,  is  a  mere  expression  of 
Shelley's  sense  of  the  omnipotence  of  evil : — 

"  For  was  he  not  alone  omnipotent 
On  earth  and  ever  present  ?     Even  though  dead, 
Does  not  his  spirit  live  in  all  that  breathe, 
And  work  for  me  and  mine  still  the  same  ruin, 
Scorn,  pain,  despair  ?  " 

In  fact  "The  Cenci "  seems  to  me  to  prove 
rather  Shelley's  power  of  writing  brilliantly  on 
any  subject  than  his  dramatic  capacity. 


224 


CHAPTER     XI 

"THE  WITCH  OF  ATLAS"   AND 
"  EPIPSYCHIDION  " 

OHELLEY  found  that  the  climate  of  Florence 
^  did  not  suit  his  health.  Therefore  he  went 
with  Mary  and  Claire  to  Pisa  at  the  end  of  January, 
1820,  travelling  by  boat  up  the  Arno  as  far  as 
Empoli.  They  lived  quietly  at  Pisa ;  the  place 
suited  Shelley  better  than  Florence,  and  he  got 
some  benefit  from  the  skill  of  an  eminent  doctor, 
by  name  Vacca.  In  March  Shelley  wrote  the 
"  Sensitive  Plant,"  a  poem  of  pure  fancy  and 
description,  full  of  beautiful  verses,  but  with  a 
theme  too  slight  for  its  length.  It  is  written  in 
anapaests  (or  triple  time),  and  Shelley's  mastery 
of  the  metre  is  uncertain.  Indeed,  no  English 
poet  had  managed  triple  time  perfectly,  at  least 
in  serious  verse,  before  William  Morris  and  Swin- 
burne. Shelley  often  falls  into  the  mechanical 
see-saw  of  the  eighteenth  century,  as  in  the  opening 
lines  : — 

"  A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden  grew, 
And  the  light  winds  fed  it  with  silver  dew." 

This  versification  is  most  beautiful  when  the 
metre  comes  nearest  to  being  iambic : — 
15  225 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

"  Broad  water-lilies  lay  tremulously, 
And  starry  river-buds  glimmered  by." 

These  two  lines  might  be  followed  by  pure 
iambics  without  incongruity.  Many  of  the  most 
anapaestic  verses  cannot  be  read  without  gabbling, 
and,  in  the  conclusion,  Shelley  seems  to  subside 
into  iambics  with  relief.1 

Medwin  has  a  story  that,  while  at  Pisa,  Shelley 
went  one  day  to  ask  for  letters  at  the  post-office, 
when  an  Englishman,  hearing  his  name,  turned 
on  him,  and  saying,  "  What,  are  you  that  damned 
atheist  Shelley  ?  "  knocked  him  down.  The  man 
went  away  to  Genoa,  whither  Shelley  followed 
him,  according  to  Medwin,  but  could  hear  no  more 
of  him.  Peacock  thinks  the  whole  affair  was  one 
of  Shelley's  delusions.  Medwin  says  that  the 
Englishman's  rage  was  produced  by  the  abuse 
of  "  The  Revolt  of  Islam  "  in  the  Quarterly  Review. 
In  June,  1820,  the  Shelleys  and  Claire  went  to 
Leghorn,  where  the  Gisbornes  lent  them  their 
house,  Casa  Ricci.  Claire  was  in  great  anxiety 
about  her  child,  as  Byron  was  living  with  the 
Countess  Guiccioli.  She  entreated  Byron  to  allow 
the  child  to  visit  her,  but  he  would  not.  Shelley 
also  wrote  to  Byron,  pleading  for  Claire.  "  Poor 
thing,"  he  said,  "  she  is  very  unhappy  and  in 
bad  health,  and  she  ought  to  be  treated  with  as 
much  indulgence  as  possible.    The  weak  and  the 

1 1  use  the  terms  iambic  and  anapsestic  without  intend- 
ing to  commit  myself  to  any  theory  of  English  metre,  and 
only  because  they  are  the  best  I  can  find  for  my  purpose 

226 


"  THE  WITCH   OF  ATLAS  " 

foolish  are  in  this  respect  like  kings — they  can  do 
no  wrong."  This  last  sentence  might  be  quoted 
to  show  that  in  Shelley  there  was  indeed  an  anima 
naturaliter  Christiana.  Her  anxiety  made  Claire 
more  difficult  than  usual,  and  she  was  constantly 
quarrelling  with  Mary. 

"  Heigh-ho  !    the  Claire  and  the  Ma 
Find  something  to  fight  about  every  day," 

she  wrote  in  her  journal.  At  Leghorn  Shelley 
wrote  his  "  Letter  to  Maria  Gisborne,"  his  best 
piece  of  familiar  verse.  Mrs.  Gisborne  was  in 
London,  and  Shelley  described  to  her  the  famous 
men  she  was  to  see.  He  still  has  a  few  admiring 
generalities  for  Godwin — or  at  least  for  his  past. 

';  You  will  see 
That  which  was  Godwin,  greater  none  than  he 
Though  fallen — and  fallen  on  evil  times — to  stand 
Among  the  spirits  of  our  age  and  land, 
Before  the  dread  tribunal  of  to  come, 
The  foremost,  while  Rebuke  cowers  pale  and  dumb.' 

But  the  best  description  is  of  Coleridge,  whom 
Shelley  did  not  know  : — 

"  You  will  see  Coleridge  ;    he  who  sits  obscure 
In  the  exceeding  lustre  and  the  pure 
Intense  irradiation  of  a  mind, 
Which,  with  its  own  internal  lightning  blind, 
Flags  wearily  through  darkness  and  despair — 
A  cloud-encircled  meteor  of  the  air, 
A  hooded  eagle  among  blinking  owls." 

In  this  poem  Shelley  competes  with  the  poets 
of  the  eighteenth  century  on  their  own  ground 
and  in  their  own  metre.     In  some  things  he  sur- 

227 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

passes  and  in  others  falls  short  of  them.  Since 
he  does  not  confine  the  sense  within  the  limits 
of  the  couplet,  his  verse  runs  more  freely  and 
naturally  than  theirs.  He  seems  to  be  writing 
a  real  letter,  and  not  a  mere  pretext  for  verse- 
making.  He  has  none  of  the  mechanical  antitheses 
which  the  strict  heroic  couplet  encouraged  even 
in  its  greatest  master,  Pope.  And  at  the  same 
time  he  can  rise  into  pure  poetry  without  effort 
or  incongruity,  because  he  puts  on  no  airs  of 
worldly  wisdom,  and  because  his  verse  is  flexible 
enough  for  all  purposes. 

Shelley  had  heard  that  Southey  was  the  author 
of  the  virulent  article  upon  "The  Revolt  of 
Islam  "  in  the  Quarterly  Review.  It  was  really 
by  John  Taylor  Coleridge.  He  had  treated  the 
article  with  the  contempt  which  it  deserved, 
making  childish  and  elaborate  fun  of  it  in  a  letter 
to  Oilier.  "There  is  one  very  droll  thing  in  the 
Quarterly,"  he  wrote.  "  They  say  that  '  my 
chariot  wheels  are  broken.'  Heaven  forbid ! 
My  chariot,  you  may  tell  them,  was  built  by  one 
of  the  best  makers  in  Bond  Street,  and  it  has 
gone  several  thousand  miles  in  perfect  security. 
What  a  comical  thing  it  would  be  to  make  the 
following  advertisement :  '  A  report  having  pre- 
vailed, in  consequence  of  some  insinuations  in 
the  Quarterly  Review,  that  Mr.  Shelley's  chariot- 
wheels  are  broken,  Mr.  Charteris,  of  Bond  Street, 
begs  to  assure  the  public  that  they,  having  carried 
him  through  Italy,  France,  and  Switzerland,  still 

228 


THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS 


>J 


continue  in  excellent  repair.'  '  But  he  was 
angry  with  Southey,  and  wished  to  have  it  out 
with  him.  Therefore  he  wrote,  in  June,  asking 
Southey  to  assure  him  that  he  had  not  written 
the  article.  This  Southey,  no  doubt  to  Shelley's 
surprise,  was  able  to  do.  He  had  never,  he  said, 
mentioned  Shelley's  name  in  any  of  his  writings, 
and  had  read  nothing  of  Shelley's  since  "  Alastor." 
But  he  was  determined  to  improve  the  occasion. 
"The  specimens,"  he  wrote,  "which  I  happen 
to  have  seen  in  reviews  and  newspapers  have 
confirmed  my  opinion  that  your  powers  for  poetry 
are  of  a  high  order  ;  but  the  manner  in  which 
those  powers  have  been  employed  is  such  as  to 
prevent  me  from  feeling  any  desire  to  see  more 
of  productions  so  monstrous  in  their  kind  and 
pernicious  in  their  tendency."  With  conscious 
rectitude  he  exclaimed  that  he  could  not  think 
of  Shelley  without  the  deepest  compassion.  He 
had  said  once  that  the  great  difference  between 
them  was  that  Shelley  was  nineteen  and  he  him- 
self eight-and-thirty.  "  Would  that  the  difference 
were  no  greater  now."  In  fact  he  wrote  as  if 
he  were  a  British  matron  addressing  a  girl  who 
had  lost  her  virtue.  "  Opinions  are  to  be  judged 
by  their  effects,  and  what  has  been  the  fruit  of 
yours  ?  Do  they  enable  you  to  look  backward 
with  complacency  or  forward  with  hope  ?  .  .  . 
Have  they  not  brought  immediate  misery  upon 
others,  and  guilt,  which  is  all  but  irremediable, 
on  yourself  ?  '      Southey  was  a  good  man,   but 

229 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

too  much  aware  of  his  own  virtue  ;  and  the 
natural  pleasure  which  he  took  in  saying  nasty 
things  was  heightened  by  his  belief  that  he  said 
them  for  Shelley's  good.  Shelley's  reply  ought 
to  have  lessened  his  pleasure.  "  Even  when 
recommending  Christianity,"  he  wrote,  "  you 
cannot  forbear  breathing  out  defiance  against 
the  express  words  of  Christ."  "  You  are  such  a 
pure  one  as  Jesus  Christ  found  not  in  all  Judaea  to 
throw  the  first  stone." 

Then  follows  a  passage  in  which  Shelley  seems 
to  imply  that  he  could  have  got  a  divorce  from 
Harriet  if  he  had  chosen.1  If  that  was  what  he 
meant,  he  must  have  been  still  firmly  persuaded 
of  Harriet's  unfaithfulness. 

"You  say,"  he  continues,  "that  you  judge  of 
opinions  by  their  fruits  ;  so  do  I,  but  by  their 
remote  and  permanent  fruits — such  fruits  of  rash 
judgment  as  Christianity  seems  to  have  produced 
in  you.  The  immediate  fruits  of  all  new  opinions 
are  indeed  calamity  to  their  promulgators  and 
professors  ;  but  we  see  the  end  of  nothing  ;  and 
it  is  in  acting  well,  in  contempt  of  present  advan- 
tage, that  virtue  consists."  Southey  had  hoped 
that  Shelley  might  be  brought  to  a  better  mind 
by  his  wretched  state  of  health,  which  he  had 
mentioned  in  his  first  letter,  and  Shelley  therefore 
ended  with  this  P.S.  :    "I  ought  not  to  omit  that 

1  Professor  Dowden  suggests  that  this  is  the  meaning  of 
an  obscure  sentence,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  it  can  have 
no  other. 

230 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

I  have  had  sickness  enough,  and  that  at  this 
moment  I  have  so  severe  a  pain  in  my  side  that  I 
can  hardly  write.  All  this  is  of  no  account  in 
favour  of  what  you  or  anyone  else  calls  Chris- 
tianity ;  surely  it  would  be  better  to  wish  me 
health  and  healthful  sensations.  I  hope  the 
chickens  will  not  come  home  to  roost."  This 
last  remark,  Professor  Dowden  points  out,  is  an 
allusion  to  the  motto  of  "  The  Curse  of  Kehama." 
"  Curses  are  like  young  chickens,  they  always 
come  home  to  roost."  Southey  wrote  another 
letter  in  the  same  strain  as  his  first,  and  so  the 
correspondence  ended.    . 

At  the  beginning  of  August,  Shelley  and  his 
family  left  Leghorn  because  of  the  heat,  and  went 
to  a  village,  San  Giuliano  di  Pisa,  about  four 
miles  from  Pisa  and  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 
Climbing  alone  to  the  top  of  Monte  san  Pellegrino, 
Shelley  conceived  the  idea  of  the  "  Witch  of 
Atlas,"  and  wrote  the  poem,  670  lines,  in  three 
days.  Mary  wished  that  he  would  increase  his 
popularity  by  adopting  subjects  that  would  more 
suit  the  popular  taste  than  a  poem  conceived  in 
the  abstract  and  dreamy  spirit  of  the  "  Witch  of 
Atlas."  She  believed  that  "  he  would  obtain  a 
greater  mastery  over  his  own  powers,  and  greater 
happiness  in  his  mind,  if  public  applause  crowned 
his  endeavours."  Shelley  wrote  an  introduction, 
addressed  to  her,  "  on  her  objecting "  to  the 
following  poem  upon  the  score  of  its  containing 
no  human  interest : — 

231 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

"  How,  my  dear  Mary,  are  you  critic-bitten 

(For  vipers  kill,  though  dead)  by  some  review. 

That  you  condemn  these  verses  I  have  written, 
Because  they  tell  no  story,  false  or  true  ? 

What,  though  no  mice  are  caught  by  a  young  kitten, 
May  it  not  leap  and  play  as  grown  cats  do, 

Till  its  claws  come  ?     Prithee,  for  this  one  time, 

Content  thee  with  a  visionary  rhyme." 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  I  think,  that  Mary 
gave  good  advice  ;  and  that  Shelley,  when  he 
wrote  poems  like  the  "  Witch  of  Atlas,"  was  rather 
spending  his  powers  than  training  them,  like  a 
young  painter  of  great  facility  who  makes  pictures 
out  of  his  own  head  instead  of  studying  nature. 
It  is  full  of  beautiful  verses  that  would  seem  twice 
as  beautiful  if  they  were  related  to  any  main 
theme ;  but  the  Witch  herself  is  a  faint  abstrac- 
tion, and  does  nothing  except  spin  mist  and  store 
magic  treasures  in  her  cave — visions  and  odours 
and  liquors  that  would  give  glorious  dreams,  and 
scrolls  that  would  teach  men  to  live  "  harmonious 
as  the  sacred  stars  above."  The  nymphs  and 
oreads  and  naiads  wish  to  live  for  ever  in  the  light 
of  her  presence  ;  but  she  will  not  have  this,  for  she 
is  immortal  and  they  are  mortal : — 

"  Oh,  ask  not  me 
To  love  you  till  your  little  race  is  run  ; 

I  cannot  die  as  ye  must — over  me 
Your  leaves  shall  glance— the  streams  in  which  ye  dwell 
Shall  be  my  paths  henceforth,  and  so,  farewell !  " 

She  had,  of  course,  a  boat,  which  Vulcan  had 
made  to  be  a  chariot  for  the  star  of  Venus  : — 

232 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

"  But  it  was  found  too  feeble  to  be  fraught 

With  all  the  ardours  in  that  sphere  which  are, 
And  so  she  sold  it,  and  Apollo  bought 

And  gave  it  to  this  daughter  :  from  a  car 
Changed  to  the  fairest  and  the  lightest  boat 
Which  ever  upon  mortal  stream  did  float." 

She  kneaded  fire  and  snow  together  into  a  living 
image,  winged  and  sexless,  and  put  it  at  the  prow 
of  the  boat ;  and  taking  the  rudder  herself,  set 
off  on  a  voyage,  like  Alastor,  down  the  mountain 
streams : — 

"  And  ever  as  she  went,  the  image  lay 

With  folded  wings  and  unawakened  eyes." 

But,  when  she  wished  to  go  up-stream,  she  called 

"  Hermaphroditus,"    and    it    would    awake    and 

use  its  ethereal  vans  for  oars.     A  great  part  of 

the  poem  is  taken  up  with  a  descriptiom  of  her 

wanderings  on  the  water  and  among  the  clouds, 

how — 

"  She  would  often  climb 
The  steepest  ladder  of  the  crudded  rack 

Up  to  some  beaked  cape  of  cloud  sublime, 
And  like  Arion  on  the  dolphin's  back 

Ride  singing  through  the  shoreless  air." 

But  her  choicest  sport  was  to  visit  Egypt  in 
the  night,  gliding  down  the  Nile,  and  to  look  at 
mortals  asleep  : — 

"  To  those  she  saw  most  beautiful,  she  gave 
Strange  panacea  in  a  crystal  bowl. 
They  drank  in  their  deep  sleep  of  that  sweet  wave, 
And  lived  thenceforward  as  if  some  control 

233 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Mightier  than  life,  were  in  them  ;    and  the  grave 
Of  such,  when  death  oppressed  the  weary  soul, 
Was  as  a  green  and  overarching  bower 
Lit  by  the  gems  of  many  a  starry  flower." 

The  poem  becomes  faintly  satirical  towards 
the  end,  telling  how  the  Witch — 

"  Would  write  strange  dreams  upon  the  brain 
Of  those  who  were  less  beautiful,  and  make 

All  harsh  and  crooked  purposes  more  vain 
Than  in  the  desert  is  the  serpent's  wake 

Which  the  sand  covers." 

Then — 

"  The  priests  would  write  an  explanation  full, 
Translating  hieroglyphics  into  Greek, 

How  the  god  Apis  really  was  a  bull 

And  nothing  more  ;    and  bid  the  herald  stick 

The  same  against  the  temple  doors,  and  pull 
The  old  cant  down." 

And  the  king  would  set  an  ape  on  his  throne, 
and  the  soldiers  dream  they  were  blacksmiths 
and  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares.  The 
Witch  also  furthered  what  is  commonly  known 
as  "  free  love." 

"  And  timid  lovers  who  had  been  so  coy, 

They  hardly  knew  whether  they  loved  or  not, 
Would  rise  out  of  their  rest  and  take  sweet  joy, 

To  the  fulfilment  of  their  inmost  thought ; 
And  when  next  day  the  maiden  and  the  boy 

Met  one  another,  both,  like  sinners  caught, 
Blushed  at  the  thing  which  each  believed  was  done 

Only  in  fancy — till  the  tenth  moon  shone." 

234 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

But  no  harm   came  of   it  all,  for  the  Witch — 

"  Would  let  them  take  no  ill  : 
Of  many  thousand  schemes  which  lovers  find, 
The  Witch  found  one,  and  so  they  took  their  fill 
Of  happiness  in  marriage  warm  and  kind." 

The  poem  is  indeed  an  escape  from  reality. 
Here  Shelley  writes  as  Correggio  painted  Io  and 
Antiope  and  Danae ;  and  indeed  many  great 
artists  have  delighted  to  represent  youthful 
passion  freed  by  different  devices  from  all  the 
restraints  of  circumstance.  There  is  the  device 
of  the  love  potion  in  the  story  of  Tristram  and 
Iseult,  and  the  device  of  a  secret  marriage,  which 
is  mere  machinery,  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet  "  ;  and 
all  the  devices  of  Greek  mythology.  Puritans 
hate  these  devices  ;  but  so  long  as  they  are  used 
for  purposes  of  beauty  they  do  no  harm,  for  the 
beauty  of  art  casts  out  nastiness  from  the  minds 
of  all  except  those  who  find  nastiness  everywhere. 
Some  critics  have  found  deep  meanings  in  the 
"Witch  of  Atlas."  It  seems  to  me  one  of  those 
poems  in  which  Shelley  wrote  about  all  the  things 
that  pleased  him  most,  and  of  which  the  subject 
was  a  mere  pretext  for  doing  so. 

To  this  year  belong  the  two  long  odes  to 
"Liberty"  and  to  "Naples";  the  first  written 
in  the  spring,  when  he  heard  of  the  Spanish  Rebel- 
lion, the  second  in  August,  when  a  Constitution 
was  granted  to  Naples.  The  "  Ode  to  Liberty  " 
is  in  nineteen  regular  stanzas  of  fifteen  lines  each, 
and  describes  the  evil  state  of  the  world  before 

235 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

the  birth  of  liberty  ;  and  how  liberty  was  born 
in  Athens,  and  lived  a  while  in  Rome  but  deserted 
it,  and  was  unknown  for  a  thousand  years  until 
the  time  of  Alfred  and  the  rising  of  the  cities  in 
sacred  Italy.  The  rest  of  the  ode  is  for  the  most 
part  mere  rhetoric,  until  the  last  scene,  in  which 
Shelley  describes  the  sudden  end  of  his  inspira- 
tion : — 

"  The  solemn  harmony 
Paused,  and  the  spirit  of  that  mighty  singing 

To  its  abyss  was  suddenly  withdrawn  ; 
Then,  as  a  wild  swan,  when  sublimely  winging 
Its  path  across  the  thunder-smoke  of  dawn, 
Sinks  headlong  through  the  aereal  golden  light 
On  the  heavy  sounding  plain, 
When  the  bolt  has  pierced  its  brain  ; 
As  summer  clouds  dissolve  unburthened  of  their  rain  ; 
As  a  far  taper  fades  with  fading  night, 

As  a  brief  insect  dies  with  dying  day, 
My  song,  its  pinions  disarrayed  of  might, 
Drooped  ;    o'er  it  closed  the  echoes  far  away 
Of  the  great  voice  which  did  its  flight  sustain, 
As  waves  which  lately  paved  his  watery  way 
Hiss  round  a  drowner's  head  in  their  tempestuous  play." 

Shelley  often  describes  himself  as  sinking  thus 
suddenly  from  a  heaven  of  song,  as  if  he  felt  that 
all  his  attempts  to  escape  from  the  reality  that 
he  hated  must  be  as  vain  as  rebellion  against 
the  attraction  of  gravity.  The  passage  I  have 
quoted  shows  the  mastery  with  which  he  handled 
his  elaborate  stanza.  In  this  poem  Shelley 
revived  and  developed  a  kind  of  poetry  which 
Crashaw  had  first  made,  and  which  we  may  call 
orchestral  rather  than  lyrical.     It  has  been  still 

236 


tt 


THE  WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 


further  developed  by  Swinburne  in  many  odes. 
It  is  a  magnificent  means  of  expression,  but  it 
still  waits  for  an  English  Pindar  to  manage  it 
perfectly.  Even  the  finest  examples  of  it,  of 
which  Shelley's  "  Ode  to  Liberty "  is  certainly 
one,  remind  one  of  those  modern  symphonic 
poems  in  which  the  orchestration  is  apt  to  over- 
power the  subject  matter.  There  is  too  much 
imagery  in  the  "  Ode  to  Liberty/'  and  versifica- 
tion too  swift  and  rich,  not  only  for  the  thought 
but  for  the  emotion.  The  poem  is  prolonged  by 
device  after  device  without  development  of  the 
theme.  There  is  much  more  variety  and  con- 
tinuity of  music  than  in  Gray's  odes,  but  the  same 
eloquent  irrelevancies  which  seem  to  be  a  chronic 
vice  in  this  kind  of  poetry.  Thus  Shelley,  having 
told  how  liberty  fled  from  Rome,  proceeds  to  ask : — 

"  From  what  Hyrcanian  glen  or  frozen  hill, 
Or  piny  promontory  of  the  Arctic  main, 
Or  utmost  islet  inaccessible, 

Didst  thou  lament  the  ruin  of  thy  reign, 
Teaching  the  woods  and  waves  and  desert  rocks, 
And  every  Naiad's  ice-cold  urn, 
To  talk  in  echoes  sad  and  stern, 
Of  that  sublimest  love  which  man  had  dared  unlearn  ?  ' ' 

This  question  bears  no  relation  to  reality. 
Because  the  poet  has  personified  Liberty,  he 
thinks  it  necessary  to  conjecture  where  she  was 
when  men  had  lost  all  knowledge  of  her.  The 
conjecture  that  she  taught  the  woods  and  waves 
to  talk  of  her  loss  is  as  meaningless  as  any  frigid 
fancy  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

237 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

The  "  Ode  to  Naples  "  is  made  up  of  answering 
epodes,  strophes,  and  antistrophes.  It  matters 
little  that  they  are  not  arranged  on  any  classical 
plan.  The  poem  has  the  same  beauties  and  defects 
as  the  "  Ode  to  Liberty."  The  first  two  epodes 
are  taken  up  with  a  brilliant  but  irrelevant  descrip- 
tion of  Pompeii,  influenced  no  doubt  by  the  same 
kind  of  descriptions  in  "  Childe  Harold."  Then 
follows  an  address  to  Naples  : — 

"  Naples,  thou  Heart  of  men  which  ever  pantest 
Naked,  beneath  the  lidless  eye  of  Heaven  ! 
Elysian  city,  which  to  calm  enchantest 
The  mutinous  air  and  sea." 

And  then  some  vague  and  splendid  rhetoric,  in 
the  course  of  which  the  chief  cities  of  Italy  are 
enumerated.  The  first  epode  returns  with  a 
glorious  opening  : — 

"  Hear  ye  the  march  as  of  the  Earth-born  Forms 
Arrayed  against  the  ever-living  Gods  ? 
The  crash  and  darkness  of  a  thousand  storms 
Bursting  their  inaccessible  abodes 

Of  crags  and  thunder-clouds  ?  " 

But  the  poem  does  not  become  more  definite 
after  these  splendid  generalities,  as  the  reader 
naturally  expects  it  to  do.  We  hear  of  the  Anarchs 
of  the  North  and  their  legions,  but  soon  their 
misdeeds  are  lost  in  imagery  and  the  poem  ends 
in  vague  good  wishes. 

It  is  when  we  compare  these  longer  poems  with 
the  best  of  Shelley's  shorter  lyrics  that  we  are 

238 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

least  satisfied  with  them.  In  the  year  1820  he 
wrote  "The  Cloud,"  "The  Skylark,"  "  Arethusa," 
the  "  Song  of  Proserpine,"  the  "  Hymn  of  Apollo  " 
and  the  "Hymn  of  Pan,"  "The  Question"  and 
the  "  Two  Spirits."  Indeed  it  was  his  chief 
year  for  lyrics,  and  some  of  them  are  events  in 
the  history  of  the  human  mind.  That  personifi- 
cation which  in  the  "  Ode  to  Liberty  "  is  a  rhetori- 
cal device  seems  in  "  The  Cloud  "  to  be  a  simple 
telling  of  the  truth.  For  the  cloud  was  a  living 
creature  to  Shelley,  one  of  those  Spirits  with  whose 
music  he  filled  "  Prometheus  Unbound,"  and  he 
makes  it  live  for  us  through  all  its  phases  and 
travels.  We  know  nothing  of  his  Witch  of  Atlas, 
but  we  are  familiar  with  clouds  and  can  be  inter- 
ested in  their  history  when  it  is  told  so  as  to  make 
a  new  romance  of  the  sky  and  one  that  gives  a 
new  significance  to  all  its  changes.  "  The  Cloud  ' 
is  not  mere  phantasy,  but  transfigured  fact  ; 
fact  emotionally  apprehended  by  the  poet,  and 
so  rendered  into  music  : — 

"  I  am  the  daughter  of  Earth  and  Water, 

And  the  nursling  of  the  Sky  ; 
I  pass  through  the  pores  of  the  ocean  and  shores  ; 

I  change,  but  I  cannot  die. 
For  after  the  rain  when  with  never  a  stain, 

The  pavilion  of  Heaven  is  bare, 
And  the  winds  and  sunbeams  with  their  convex  gleams, 

Build  up  the  blue  dome  of  air, 
I  silently  laugh  at  my  own  cenotaph, 

And  out  of  the  caverns  of  rain, 
Like  a  child  from  the  womb,  like  a  ghost  from  the  tomb. 

I  arise  and  unbuild  it  again." 

239 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Here  Shelley  is  making  a  new  kind  of  myth, 
one  that  expresses  exact  knowledge  and  not 
primitive  fancy.  It  is  a  myth  in  which  the 
world  seems  to  be  emptied  of  human  beings,  or 
in  which  they  are  too  small  to  be  visible.  But, 
for  compensation,  the  life  of  the  forces  of  nature 
becomes  more  intense  and  beautiful,  and  it  is  free 
from  all  our  hatreds  and  griefs.  There  are  some 
to  whom  even  "The  Cloud"  will  seem  a  mere 
exercise  of  fancy ;  but  others  are  persuaded,  by 
the  beauty  of  its  music,  to  feel  that  it  is  prophetic 
of  a  finer  state  of  being,  in  which  we  shall  all 
understand  and  delight  in  the  processes  of  nature 
as  Shelley  delighted  in  them. 

In  the  "  Hymn  of  Pan  "  Shelley  made  an  old 
myth  his  own.  It  is  nearer  to  pure  music  than 
any  of  his  lyrics,  and  yet  full  of  sense.  No  English 
poet  has  ever  rilled  verse  with  changes  so  delicate 
and  expressive.  The  poem  sounds  as  airy  as  a 
song  from  "  The  Tempest,"  yet  it  is  as  lucid  and 
complete  as  any  poem  in  the  Greek  anthology. 

In  August  Shelley  wrote  "  Swellfoot  the  Tyrant/' 
a  dull  dramatic  satire  on  the  English  enthusiasm 
for  Queen  Caroline,  who  seemed  to  him  a  poor 
kind  of  heroine.  It  was  published,  but  immedi- 
ately suppressed  under  threat  of  a  prosecution. 

In  the  diary  of  Claire  there  is  an  entry  dated 
November  29, 1820,  recording  a  visit  to  the  Convent 
of  St.  Anna  and  the  beautiful  Teresa  Viviani. 
This  is  the  first  we  hear  of  a  curious  episode  in 
Shelley's  life.    At   Pisa   the   Shelley s   made  the 

240 


It 


THE  WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 


acquaintance  of  Francesco  Pacchiani,  a  professor 
of  physics  at  Pisa  University,  an  able  and  witty 
man  with  little  reputation  for  morals  or  honesty. 
The  Shelleys  were  amused  by  him  ;  but  he  dis- 
gusted Shelley  by  telling  a  dirty  story,  and  "  would 
make  one  believe,"  Mary  says,  "that  he  attracts 
the  great  as  a  milk-pail  does  flies  on  a  summer 
morning."  Shelley  compared  his  eloquence  to 
that  of  Coleridge.  Pacchiani,  who  was  in  some 
kind  of  orders,  was  confessor  to  the  Vivianis,  a 
noble  family  of  Pisa,  and  had  been  tutor  to  Count 
Viviani's  two  daughters.  The  count  had  married 
a  second  wife  much  younger  than  himself.  She 
contrived,  fearing  that  the  daughters  might  be 
her  rivals  with  her  lover,  that  they  should  be 
placed  in  separate  convents.  The  elder  of  them, 
Teresa  Emilia,  had  been  for  two  years  in  the  Con- 
vent of  St.  Anna.  Her  father  wanted  to  marry 
her,  if  possible,  to  some  one  who  would  not  exact 
a  dowry.  Pacchiani  gave  the  Shelleys  an  eloquent 
account  of  her  beauty,  said  that  she  pined  like  a 
bird  in  a  cage,  for  the  convent  was  a  miserable 
place  ;  and  that  she  was  made  for  love.  Shelley 
took  fire  at  the  thought  of  a  beautiful  and  oppressed 
maiden.  After  the  first  visit  paid  to  her  in  her 
convent  by  Mary  and  Claire,  the  Shelleys  saw  her 
often.  The  convent  discipline  cannot  have  been 
very  strict.  Medwin  tells  us  that  her  profuse 
black  hair  was  tied  in  a  knot  after  the  manner  of 
a  Greek  muse  in  the  Florence  Gallery,  that  her 
brow  was  as  fair  as  the  marble,  and  her  height 
16  241 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

about  the  same  as  that  of  the  antique.  Her 
features,  too,  possessed  almost  a  Grecian  contour, 
the  nose  and  forehead  making  a  straight  line. 
Her  cheek  was  pale  as  marble  owing  to  her  con- 
finement, or  perhaps  to  thought  ;  but  her  eyes 
had  a  sleepy  voluptuousness.  Mrs.  Shelley  also 
thought  her  beautiful,  but  found  her  most  agree- 
able when  silent.  This  was  not  the  case  with 
Shelley,  who  admired  her  mind  as  much  as  her 
body.  Her  parents  had  told  her  that  she  was  to 
marry  a  man  she  had  never  seen,  a  younger  son  who 
would  live  with  his  mother.  But  she  had  already 
known  love,  and  more  than  once  ;  for  she  always 
prayed  to  a  saint  of  the  same  name  as  her  lover, 
and,  when  she  changed  her  lover,  changed  her 
saint.  Soon  she  was  writing  letters  to  Mary  and 
to  Shelley.  On  December  10  she  already  calls 
Shelley  her  dear  brother,  and  Claire  is  teaching 
her  English.  Shelley  is  to  call  her  sister,  and  she 
embraces  her  very  dear  and  beautiful  sister  Mary. 
She  implores  her  sensibile  Percy  to  take  every 
care  of  his  health.  Soon  Shelley  became  an 
angelica  creatura,  and  even,  it  is  said,  an  adorato 
sposo.  It  appears  from  a  letter  of  hers,  dated 
December  12,  that  Shelley  is  engaging  himself  to 
effect  her  liberation.  "  I  leave  the  how  to  you  who 
have  that  wisdom  and  experience  in  which  I  am 
wanting."  She  asks  God  to  pardon  her  mother, 
but  loves  her  still  and  wishes  her  every  good. 
Shelley  had  said  that  her  liberation  might  perhaps 
divide  them ;    but  she  will  seek  him  everywhere, 

242 


"THE  WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

even  to  the  uttermost  boundaries  of  the  world. 
She  can  never  love  anything  or  person  so  much  as 
his  family  ;  for  in  it  are  included  all  that  can  exist 
of  beautiful,  virtuous,  amiable,  sensibile,  and  learned 
in  the  world.  Writing  to  Mary,  she  complains 
that  Mary  seems  a  little  cold  sometimes  ;  but 
Shelley  has  told  her  that  this  apparent  coldness 
is  only  the  ash  that  covers  an  affectionate  heart. 
In  another  letter  she  exclaims,  "  You  have  much 
talent,  my  Mary,  which,  together  with  your 
virtue  and  your  excellent  heart,  makes  you  one 
of  the  loveliest  of  God's  or  nature's  creatures." 
Claire  had  told  her  part  of  Shelley's  history. 
"His  many  misfortunes,  his  unjust  persecutions, 
and  his  firm  and  innate  virtue  in  the  midst  of  these 
terrible  and  unmerited  sorrows,  filled  my  heart 
with  admiration  and  affection,  and  made  me 
think,  and  perhaps  not  untruly,  that  he  is  not  a 
human  creature  ;  he  has  only  a  human  exterior, 
but  the  interior  is  all  divine.  The  Being  of  all 
beings  has  doubtless  sent  him  to  earth  to  accredit 
virtue,  and  to  give  an  exact  image  of  Himself." 
She  could  hardly  have  gone  further  in  the  way 
of  praise  than  this  ;  and  one  may  wonder  whether 
she  had  any  notion  that  Shelley  was  really  a 
divine  poet,  and  capable  of  handing  her  name  down 
to  posterity,  or  whether  she  was  merely  trying  to 
make  herself  agreeable. 

Shelley  told  her,  it  appears,  that  in  friendship 

everything  must  be  in  common  ;  and  she  exclaims, 

'  Few,  indeed,  very  few,  are  those  who  know  this 

243 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

sublime  and  sweet  divinity  ;  but  we  know  it,  and 
that  is  enough."  "  Mary,"  she  complains,  "  does 
not  write  to  me.  Is  it  possible  that  she  loves  me 
less  than  the  others  do  ?  " 

Then  she  begs  Shelley  to  come  no  more  to  the 
convent.  Her  parents  wish  her  to  see  no  one. 
But  in  a  few  days  she  will  be  delivered  from  this 
odious  prison,  and  then  will  be  permitted  to  enjoy 
his  amiable  and  virtuous  society.  Meanwhile 
she  must  drink  to  the  last  drop  the  bitter  cup  of 
sorrows. 

The  end  of  the  story  is  given  by  Mary,  with 
some  gusto,  in  a  letter  written  in  the  spring  of 
1822  :  "  Emilia  has  married  Biondi ;  we  hear 
that  she  leads  him  and  his  mother  (to  use  a  vul- 
garism)  a  devil  of  a  life." 

Shelley  himself,  speaking  of  his  ' '  Epipsychidion," 
the  poem  which  Emilia  inspired,  wrote  also  in 
1822  that  he  could  not  look  at  it.  "The  person 
whom  it  celebrates  was  a  cloud  instead  of  a  Juno  ; 
and  poor  Ixion  starts  from  the  Centaur  that  was 
the  offspring  of  his  own  embrace.  If  you  are 
curious,  however,  to  hear  what  I  am,  and  have 
been,  it  will  tell  you  something  thereof.  It  is  an 
idealised  history  of  my  life  and  feelings.  I  think 
one  is  always  in  love  with  something  or  other  ; 
the  error — and  I  confess  it  is  not  easy  for  spirits 
cased  in  flesh  and  blood  to  avoid  it — consists  in 
seeking  in  a  mortal  image  the  likeness  of  what  is, 
perhaps,  eternal." 

He  also  said  :    '"  Epipsychidion  '  is  a  mystery  ; 

244 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

as  to  real  flesh  and  blood,  you  know  that  I  do 
not  deal  in  those  articles ;  you  might  as  well  go 
to  a  gin-shop  for  a  leg  of  mutton  as  expect  any- 
thing human  or  earthly  from  me."  Thus  he  was 
aware  of  his  natural  tendency  to  escape  from  reality, 
and  probably  encouraged  it  for  the  purposes  of  his 
art.  "  Epipsychidion  "  reminds  one  of  the  most 
ecstatic  poems  of  the  seventeenth  century,  the 
"Anniversaries"  of  Donne  or  the  sacred  rhap- 
sodies of  Crashaw.  There  are  passages  in  it 
which  recall  Donne's  casuistry  about  love,  not 
only  in  the  matter  but  in  the  form,  so  much  that 
one  is  inclined  to  believe  Shelley  must  have  read 
Donne. 

Here  is  an  instance  : — * 

"  Mind  from  its  object  differs  most  in  this  : 
Evil  from  good,  misery  from  happiness  ; 
The  baser  from  the  nobler  ;    the  impure 
And  frail,  from  what  is  clear  and  must  endure. 
If  you  divide  suffering  and  dross,  you  may 
Diminish  till  it  is  consumed  away ; 
If  you  divide  pleasure  and  love  and  thought, 
Each  part  exceeds  the  whole  ;    and  we  know  not 
How  much,  while  any  yet  remains  unshared, 
Of  pleasure  may  be  gained,  of  sorrow  spared." 

And  here  is  another  very  Donnish  couplet : — 

"  True  love  in  this  differs  from  gold  and  clay, 
That  to  divide  is  not  to  take  away." 

1  I  do  not  know  of  any  mention  by  Shelley  of  Donne  in 
any  of  his  letters  or  other  writings  ;  but  Leigh  Hunt,  in 
one  of  his  letters  to  Shelley,  asks  him  whether  he  has  ever 
read  Donne. 

245 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

All  these  lines  are  written  in  a  homelier  language 
than  Shelley  was  wont  to  use,  and  some  cancelled 
passages  of  the  poem  seem  to  prove  that  he  began 
to  write  it  with  a  half-satirical  intention  which  he 
cast  off  as  he  was  drawn  more  and  more  into 
rhapsody.     Here  is  one  of  them  : — 

"  If  I  were  one  whom  the  loud  world  held  wise, 
I  should  disdain  to  quote  authorities 
In  commendation  of  this  kind  of  love  : 
Why  there  is  first  the  God  in  heaven  above, 
Who  wrote  a  book  called  Nature,  'tis  to  be 
Reviewed,  I  hear,  in  the  next  Quarterly  ; 
And  Socrates,  the  Jesus  Christ  of  grace, 
And  Jesus  Christ  himself,  did  never  cease 
To  urge  all  living  things  to  love  each  other, 
And  to  forget  their  mutual  faults,  and  smother 
The  Devil  of  disunion  in  their  souls." 

Here  Shelley  is  inclined  to  be  naughty ;  but 
no  doubt  he  saw  it  was  dangerous  to  talk  about 
nature  in  connection  with  anything  so  unnatural 
as  the  sterile  passion  which  he  was  trying  to 
glorify. 

In  the  poem  itself  there  is  one  passage  written 
in  this  strain  : — 

"  I  never  was  attached  to  that  great  sect 
Whose  doctrine  is,  that  each  one  shall  select 
Out  of  the  crowd  a  mistress  or  a  friend, 
And  all  the  rest,  though  fair  and  wise,  commend 
To  cold  oblivion,  though  it  is  in  the  code 
Of  modern  morals,  and  the  beaten  road 
Which  those  poor  slaves  with  weary  footsteps  tread, 
Who  travel  to  their  home  among  the  dead 
By  the  broad  highway  of  the  world,  and  so, 
With  one  chained  friend,  perhaps  a  jealous  foe, 
The  dreariest  and  the  longest  journey  go." 

246 


"THE   WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

Here  he  seems  to  tell  us  that  he  is,  like  many 
men,  naturally  polygamous. 

There  are  three  fragmentary  drafts  of  the  preface 
in  existence,  and  in  one  of  these  he  describes  his 
hero  as  "  accompanied  by  a  lady  supposed  to  be 
his  wife,  and  an  effeminate-looking  youth  to 
whom  he  showed  an  attachment  so  singular  as 
to  give  rise  to  the  suspicion  that  she  was  a  woman. 
At  his  death  this  suspicion  was  confirmed."  He 
also  says  that  it  was  his  hero's  intention  to  retire 
to  one  of  the  Sporades  and  there  "  to  dedicate 
the  remainder  of  his  life  to  undisturbed  intercourse 
with  his  companions."  Among  the  cancelled 
fragments  of  the  poem  is  one  connected  with 
this  cancelled  preface  : — 

"  And  as  to  friend  or  mistress,  'tis  a  form  ; 
Perhaps  I  wish  you  were  one.     Some  declare 
You  a  familiar  spirit,  as  you  are  ; 
Others  with  a  more  inhuman 

Hint  that,  though  not  my  wife,  you   are  a  woman. 
What  is  the  colour  of  your  eyes  and  hair  ? 
Why,  if  you  were  a  lady,  it  were  fair 
The  world  should  know — but,  as  I  am  afraid, 
The  Quarterly  would  bait  you  if  betrayed  ; 
And  if,  as  it  will  be  sport  to  see  them  stumble 
Over  all  sorts  of  scandals,  hear  them  mumble 
Their  litany  of  curses — some  guess  right, 
And  others  swear  you're  a  Hermaphrodite." 

All  this  goes  to  prove  that  Shelley  was  in  a 
fantastic  mood  when  he  started  to  write  "  Epipsy- 
chidion,"  and  gradually  worked  himself  into  one 
of  complete  seriousness,  dropping  the  fiction  of 
the  lady  disguised  as  a  youth,  the  polygamous 

247 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

intentions  of  the  hero,  and  those  passages  which 
were  obviously  written  to  annoy  the  orthodox. 
I  say  that  he  worked  himself  into  this  mood 
because  the  rapture  of  the  poem  seems  to  me  to 
be  increased  and  prolonged  by  art.  Shelley, 
with  his  mastery  of  verse,  and  his  stock  of  images 
gathered  from  all  the  objects  and  ideas  in  which 
he  took  delight,  found  it  as  easy,  as  if  he  were  a 
musician,  to  spin  out  his  raptures ;  and  indeed 
the  poem  reminds  one  of  a  virtuoso  piece  written 
for  the  violin  by  a  great  composer.  Such  pieces 
entrance  us  when  a  great  virtuoso  plays  them, 
and  "  Epipsychidion  "  can  entrance  a  reader  who 
is  in  the  right  mood  for  it.  But  more  than  most 
poems  it  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  reader's  moods, 
and  its  music  will  not  lull  to  sleep  the  reason  of 
many  readers  who  have  lost  their  youth.  It  is 
well  enough  when  Shelley  tells  us  of  the  being 
whom  his  spirit  met — 


'*  In  the  clear  golden  prime  of  my  youth's  dawn, 
Upon  the  fairy  isles  of  sunny  lawn, 
Amid  the  enchanted  mountains,  and  the  caves 
Of  divine  sleep,  and  on  the  air-like  waves 
Of  wonder-level  dream,  whose  tremulous  floor 
Paved  her  light  steps  ;  — on  an  imagined  shore, 
Under  the  gray  beak  of  some  promontory 
She  met  me,  robed  in  such  exceeding  glory, 
That  I  beheld  her  not.     In  solitudes 
Her  voice  came  to  me  through  the  whispering  winds, 
And  from  the  fountains  and  the  odours  deep 
Of  flowers,  which,  like  lips  murmuring  in  their  sleep 
Of  the  sweet  kisses  which  had  lulled  them  there, 
Breathed  but  of  her  to  the  enamoured  air ; 

248 


"THE  WITCH   OF  ATLAS" 

And  from  the  breezes  whether  low  or  loud, 
And  from  the  rain  of  every  passing  cloud, 
And  from  the  singing  of  the  summer-birds, 
And  from  all  sounds,  all  silence.     In  the  words 
Of  antique  verse  and  high  romance, — in  form, 
Sound,  colour, — in  whatever  checks  that  storm 
Which  with  the  shattered  present  chokes  the  past ; 
And  in  that  best  philosophy,  whose  taste 
Makes  this  cold  common  hell,  our  life,  a  doom 
As  glorious  as  a  fiery  martyrdom." 

The  last  three  lines  startle  one  with  their  like- 
ness to  the  rhapsodies  of  Crashaw,  though  express- 
ing a  creed  that  seems  so  different  from  his.  But 
it  is  natural  to  the  purely  lyrical  poet  in  youth, 
whatever  his  creed  may  be,  to  think  that  this 
life  would  be  a  cold  hell  unless  it  were  warmed 
with  his  desires.  There  is  the  same  emotion  in 
Crashaw' s  poems  about  St.  Theresa  as  in  "  Epipsy- 
chidion."  Both  poets  talk  about  fiery  martyrdom, 
and  in  both  we  can  enjoy  the  expression  of  what 
is  a  real  passion  for  perfection,  a  real  experience 
that  we  have  all  shared  to  some  extent  in  our 
youth.  But  we  cannot,  most  of  us,  follow  Shelley 
in  his  Platonics  any  more  than  his  wife  could 
follow  him : — 

"  The  day  is  come,  and  thou  wilt  fly  with  me. 
To  whatso'er  of  dull  mortality 
Is  mine,  remain  a  vestal  sister  still ; 
To  the  intense,  the  deep,  the  imperishable, 
Not  mine  but  me,  henceforth  be  thou  united 
Even  as  a  bride,  delighting  and  delighted." 

For  we  do  not  believe  in  such  unions,  either  in 
fact  or  as  belonging  to  a  just  ideal.    The  poem 

249 


SHELLEY:    THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

ends,  of  course,  with  the  promise  of  a  voyage 
to  an  isle  under  Ionian  skies : — 

"  Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  Paradise." 

And  this  line  might  describe  the  whole  poem. 
It  is  as  beautiful  as  a  Paradise  that  has  been 
wrecked  over  and  over  again  by  experience ; 
so  that  we  cannot  believe  it  would  be  secure  in 
any  possible  state  of  being,  and  our  imaginations 
will  not  consent  to  entertain  it. 


250 


CHAPTER     XII 

"THE    DEFENCE    OF    POETRY"    AND 
SHELLEY'S   AESTHETICS 

SHELLEY  had  scarcely  finished  "  Epipsychi- 
dion  ' '  when  he  was  provoked  by  an  article 
of  Peacock's  called,  "  The  Four  Ages  of  Poetry," 
to  write  his  own  "  Defence  of  Poetry."  The 
main  purpose  of  Peacock's  article  was  to  prove 
that  poetry  had  become  obsolete,  and  he  tried 
to  prove  it  by  an  attack  upon  the  poets  of  his  own 
time.  There  is  some  casual  truth  in  his  argument, 
but  more  systematic  perversity.  Poetry  begins, 
he  says,  with  an  Age  of  Iron,  in  which  poets  sing 
rude  songs  about  the  rapine  of  the  heroes  of  their 
own  time.1  Then  follows  the  Age  of  Gold,  which 
finds  its  materials  in  the  Age  of  Iron  and  romanti- 
cizes that  age  and  its  heroes  ;  then  the  Age  of 
Silver,  which  is  imitative  in  epic  and  original  in 

1  No  doubt  Peacock  was  thinking  of  this  kind  of  poetry 
when  he  wrote  his  famous  verses  :  — 

"  The  mountain  sheep  are  sweeter, 
But  the  valley  sheep  are  fatter." 

It  has  no  resemblance  to  any  primitive  poetry  that  [  ever 
read,  and  his  account  of  such  poetry  was  mainly  invented 
to  suit  his  theory. 

251 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

comic,  didactic,  and  satiric  poetry ;  and  lastly 
the  Age  of  Brass,  which  rejects  the  polish  and  learn- 
ing of  the  Age  of  Silver,  and  tries  to  revive  the 
spontaneity  of  the  Age  of  Gold. 

Homer  and  Shakespeare  represent  the  Age  of 
Gold ;  the  poets  of  the  Augustan  age  and  the 
English  eighteenth  century,  the  Age  of  Silver ; 
the  poets  of  the  decline  of  the  Roman  Empire 
and  the  modern  romantics,  the  Age  of  Brass. 
The  best  part  of  the  essay  is  the  attack  on  these 
romantics,  and  on  the  Lake  Poets  in  particular. 
These  poets,  says  Peacock,  hold  that  the  way  to 
bring  poetical  genius  to  perfection  is  to  cultivate 
poetical  impressions  exclusively.  Such  impres- 
sions can  only  be  received  among  natural  scenes 
for  all  that  is  artificial  is  anti-poetical.  The 
mountains  are  natural,  therefore  they  will  live 
among  the  mountains,  "  passing  the  whole  day 
in  the  innocent  and  amiable  occupation  of  going 
up  and  down  hill,  receiving  poetical  impressions, 
and  communicating  them  in  immortal  verse  to 
admiring  generations."  Here  Peacock  does  touch 
the  weakness  of  the  romantic  poets  ;  for  they  are 
apt  to  specialize  too  much,  not  in  the  practise  of 
their  art — for  all  artists  must  do  that — but  in 
their  way  of  living.  The  main  defect  of  all  modern 
art  is  that  it  concerns  itself  too  much  with  effects 
and  too  little  with  causes,  too  much  with  emotions 
and  too  little  with  what  arouses  them.  Hence 
its  tendency  to  be  irrational,  and  to  rely  upon  the 
least  rational  cause  of  emotions,  namely,  associa- 

252 


.. 


THE   DEFENCE   OF  POETRY" 


tions.  Thus  there  was  some  truth  in  Peacock's 
description  of  the  romantic  poetry  as  "  A  modern 
antique  compound  of  frippery  and  barbarism, 
in  which  the  puling  sentimentality  of  the  present 
time  is  grafted  upon  the  misrepresented  rugged- 
ness  of  the  past."  But  from  the  faults  of  modern 
poetry  he  proceeded  to  argue  that  all  poetry  is 
obsolete.  "A  poet  in  our  times,"  he  says,  "is  a 
semi-barbarian  in  a  civilised  community.  He 
lives  in  the  days  that  are  past.  His  ideas,  thoughts, 
feelings,  associations,  are  all  with  barbarous 
manners,  obsolete  customs,  and  exploded  super- 
stitions." "  The  highest  inspirations  of  poetry 
can  never  make  a  philosopher,  nor  a  statesman, 
nor  in  any  class  of  life  a  useful  or  rational  man." 
Assuming  that  poetry  gives  pleasure,  he  says 
that  we  have  enough  of  it  already,  and  that 
it  can  now  be  only  cultivated  to  the  neglect  of 
some  branch  of  useful  study. 

Peacock's  attack  upon  poetry  seemed  novel 
when  he  made  it,  though  it  was  really  of  the  same 
nature  as  the  attacks  when  Sidney  answered  in 
his  "  Apology  for  Poetry  "  ;  and  Shelley's  Defence 
is  very  like  Sidney's  Apology. 

Shelley's  purpose  was  to  answer  utilitarian 
objections  to  poetry  ;  and  his  answer  has  this 
defect,  that  he  judges  it  too  much  himself  by 
utilitarian  standards.  He  does  not  make  a 
clear  distinction  between  art  and  the  rest  of  man's 
activities,  because  he  does  not  seem  to  have  grasped 
the  fact  that  art  is  and  must  be  the  expression  of 

253 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

emotion.  He  is  very  near  to  grasping  it  when, 
at  the  beginning  of  his  essay,  he  says  that  "  Reason 
is  the  enumeration  of  quantities  already  known  ; 
imagination  is  the  perception  of  the  value  of  these 
quantities,  both  separately  and  as  a  whole."  For 
emotions  are  the  test  of  the  values  of  things,  and 
the  artist,  in  expressing  his  emotions,  expresses 
and  communicates  his  sense  of  values.  Shelley 
does  not  seem  to  have  thoroughly  grasped  the 
fact  that  the  form  of  verse  is  not  a  mere  ornament 
but  an  added  means  of  expression,  for  he  says  that 
the  distinction  between  poets  and  prose  writers 
is  a  vulgar  error.  "Plato,"  he  tells  us,  "was 
essentially  a  poet — the  truth  and  splendour  of 
his  imagery,  and  the  melody  of  his  language,  are 
the  most  intense  that  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 
He  rejected  the  measure  of  the  epic,  dramatic, 
and  lyrical  forms,  because  he  sought  to  kindle  a  har- 
mony in  thoughts  divested  of  shape  and  action, 
and  he  forbore  to  invent  any  regular  plan  of  rhythm 
which  would  include,  under  determinate  forms, 
the  varied  pauses  of  his  style."  But  Plato  wrote 
in  prose  because  his  main  purpose  was  to  reason, 
and  whatever  emotion  he  expressed  was  subsidiary 
to  that  purpose.  Shelley  will  have  it  that  every 
great  writer  is  a  poet.  "  All  the  great  historians," 
he  says,  "  Herodotus,  Plutarch,  Livy,  were  poets," 
because  their  works  contain  poetic  passages. 
But  he  adds  that  "  the  plan  of  these  writers, 
especially  that  of  Livy,  restrained  them  from 
developing   this  faculty  in   its  highest   degree." 

254 


l( 


THE  DEFENCE  OF  POETRY" 


That  is  to  say,  their  main  purpose  was  not  poetical, 
and,  therefore,  they  wrote  prose. 

Shelley,  like  Coleridge,  insists  that  "  Poetry 
is  ever  accompanied  with  pleasure,"  and  that 
"  all  spirits  on  which  it  falls  open  themselves 
to  receive  the  wisdom  which  is  mingled  with  its 
delight."  There  is  some  danger  in  the  argument 
that  poetry  sweetens  wisdom,  as  jam  sweetens 
powder ;  for  it  will  not  cover  much  beautiful 
poetry,  and  it  will  not  cover  music  at  all,  unless 
we  use  wisdom  in  some  new  and  vague  sense. 
Shelley  is  on  surer  ground  when  he  tells  us  more 
particularly,  in  an  eloquent  passage,  how  poetry 
works  upon  the  mind  of  man  for  good.  How  it 
puts  us  in  love  with  things  by  quickening  our 
imaginations,  for,  without  imagination,  we  cannot 
love  well.  "  Poetry,"  he  says,  "  strengthens  the 
faculty  which  is  the  organ  of  the  moral  nature  of 
man,  in  the  same  manner  as  exercise  strengthens 
a  limb." 

"  The  Defence  of  Poetry  "  contains  many  other 
eloquent  passages,  and  some  reasoning  that  is 
both  subtle  and  profound.  But  there  is  no  clear 
statement  of  first  principles  in  it.  Shelley  seems 
to  be  wavering  between  the  old  aesthetics  and  the 
new.  At  one  time  he  claims  for  poetry  a  utility 
apart  from  its  beauty ;  at  another  he  seems  to 
hold  that  beauty  has  its  own  justification  and 
utility.  Thus  his  argument  is  not  quite  continuous, 
and  sometimes  he  gives  us  only  eloquence  when 
we  are  expecting  the  conclusion  of  an  argument. 

255 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

In  this,  as  in  other  controversial  works,  he  seems 
often  to  write  rather  for  those  who  do  not  need 
convincing  than  for  those  who  do.  He  had  a 
great  power  of  close  reasoning  ;  but  when  he 
wrote  prose,  like  many  poets  in  the  same  case,  he 
could  not  rid  his  mind  of  poetic  habits.  He  forgot 
that  his  main  purpose  was  to  reason,  and  fell  to 
expressing  his  emotions  as  if  he  were  writing 
poetry.  Matthew  Arnold,  in  one  of  those  fits  of 
perversity  to  which  the  best  critics  are  liable, 
spoke  of  Shelley's  prose  works  and  of  his  letters 
as  if  he  valued  them  more  than  his  verse.  It  is 
not  likely  that,  but  for  his  verse,  his  prose  would 
ever  be  read  now  ;  for,  though  it  is  fluent  and 
ingenious,  it  has  one  fatal  defect — it  lacks  char- 
acter. In  his  prose  Shelley  expressed  only  his 
opinions,  not  himself  and  his  own  experience. 
His  character  and  his  experience  are  of  a  kind 
that  could  only  be  expressed  in  verse,  for  both 
were  made  up  mainly  of  emotions.  He  was  more 
extremely  a  poet,  perhaps,  than  any  man  that 
ever  lived,  because  life  to  him  was  all  emotion  ; 
and  when  he  was  not  experiencing  emotion,  the 
higher  faculties  of  his  mind  were  not  employed. 
His  very  reason  only  worked  at  its  fullest  power 
when  it  was  fired  by  emotion,  and  his  greatest 
intellectual  feats  were  performed  in  lyrical  poetry. 
He  could  not  subordinate  emotion  to  reason,  and 
therefore  he  was  never  in  that  state  of  mind  when 
strong  emotion  is  controlled  by  stronger  reason, 
which  produces  the  greatest  prose.    This  exces- 

256 


"THE   DEFENCE   OF   POETRY" 

sive  predominance  of  emotion  in  his  mind  caused 
him  to  be  wanting  in  curiosity.  He  was  but  little 
interested  in  things  or  people  for  their  own  sake. 
He  judged  everything  according  to  his  own  ideals, 
and  never  allowed  those  ideals  to  be  affected  by 
facts.  Thus  he  could  not  understand  the  interest 
of  other  poets  in  circumstance  and  character ; 
and  in  his  "  Defence  of  Poetry "  he  gives  an 
ingenious  explanation  of  this  interest.  He  is 
discussing  the  reason  why  poets  have  represented 
character  remote  from  moral  perfection,  and  he 
says  that  '•'  A  poet  considers  the  vices  of  his  con- 
temporaries as  the  temporary  dress  in  which  his 
creations  must  be  arrayed,  and  which  cover  with- 
out concealing  the  eternal  proportions  of  their 
beauty."  V  Few  poets  of  the  highest  class  have 
chosen  to  exhibit  the  beauty  of  their  conceptions 
in  its  naked  truth  and  splendour  ;  and  it  is  doubt- 
ful whether  the  alloy  of  costume,  habit,  etc.,  be 
not  necessary  to  temper  this  planetary  music 
for  mortal  ears."  Here  he  has  advanced  beyond 
the  neo-classic  theory  that  nothing  should  be 
represented  in  art  which  is  not  beautiful  or  noble 
in  itself  according  to  neo-classic  standards  of 
nobility  and  beauty.  But  he  still  falls  short  of  any 
theory  that  will  justify  the  art  which  delights  in 
the  representation  of  character  for  its  own  sake, 
or  will  explain  why  that  art  is  beautiful.  Artists 
such  as  Shakespeare  or  Rembrandt  do  not  use  the 
alloy  of  costume,  habit,  etc.,  so  as  to  temper  their 
planetary  music  to  mortal  ears,  but  because  they 
17  257 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

are  profoundly  interested  in  all  the  imperfection 
of  this  life,  and  because  the  promise  of  that 
imperfection  moves  them  to  deep  emotion. 
Shelley  himself  seems  almost  to  grasp  this  fact 
when  he  says  that  "  The  beauty  of  the  internal 
nature  cannot  be  so  far  concealed  by  its  accidental 
vesture  but  that  the  spirit  of  its  form  shall  com- 
municate itself  to  the  very  disguise,  and  indicate 
the  shape  it  hides  from  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
worn." 

But  even  here  he  fails  to  distinguish  between  the 
beauty  of  a  work  of  art  and  the  beauty  of  what  is 
represented  in  it.  The  artist  can  make  a  beautiful 
work  of  art  out  of  the  representation  of  things  not 
beautiful  in  themselves,  provided  those  things 
move  him  to  emotion  and  he  expresses  that 
emotion  in  his  art.  Shakespeare  and  Rembrandt 
could  love  people  and  things  altogether  imperfect 
in  themselves,  and  could  therefore  represent  them 
in  terms  of  beauty.  Shakespeare  also  could 
take  delight  in  the  conflict  of  good  and  evil  in 
this  life  as  being  part  of  its  necessary  imperfection, 
and  as  containing  all  the  infinite  promise  of  that 
imperfection.  He  could  therefore  represent  evil 
with  as  much  zest  as  good  ;  and  he  admired  power 
in  evil,  as,  for  instance,  the  cunning  and  constancy 
of  Iago,  because  he  held  power  in  itself  to  be  good, 
and  to  retain  some  of  its  virtue  even  when  per- 
verted by  the  imperfect  conditions  of  this  life. 
But  to  Shelley  power,  when  evilly  used,  was  evil 
in   itself ;    and   he   could   take   no   disinterested 

258 


"THE  DEFENCE   OF   POETRY" 

delight  in  it,  but  could  only  represent  it,  without 
understanding,  as  a  foil  to  good.  He  was  so  much 
repelled  by  it  that  he  could  no  more  observe  it 
coolly  than  most  of  us  could  observe  a  man  being 
broken  on  the  wheel.  Again,  Shakespeare,  having 
a  joyful  sense  of  the  imperfection  of  this  life,  saw 
promise  and  significance  in  the  very  follies  and 
weaknesses  of  mankind.  Hence  that  good-natured 
humour  of  his,  which  has  the  joy  of  art,  and  there- 
fore the  beauty  of  art,  in  its  expression.  But, 
since  Shelley  had  no  joyful  sense  of  the  imperfec- 
tion of  this  life,  he  had  no  humour,  but  only  high 
spirits.  Therefore  his  aesthetic  theory  takes  no 
account  of  humour,  except  as  an  alloy  to  temper 
planetary  music.  He  himself  condemned  comedy 
as  cruel.  He  thought  that  no  one  could  make  fun 
of  follies  and  weaknesses  without  hating  them  or 
despising  the  weak  and  foolish.  He  had  a  strong 
abstract  faith  in  mankind  and  the  future  of  the 
universe ;  but  it  remained  always  abstract,  and 
based  rather  upon  opinions  than  upon  facts,  and 
he  hated  all  facts  that  seemed  to  him  to  contra- 
dict it.  Thus  he  was  no  more  fitted  to  write 
prose  than  Correggio  was  fitted  to  paint  portraits, 
and  there  is  the  same  kind  of  emptiness  in  his 
prose,  for  all  its  facility,  as  in  those  paintings  of 
Correggio  which  want  lyrical  fire. 


259 


CHAPTER     XIII 
"ADONAIS"   AND   "HELLAS" 

EARLY  in  1821  Shelley  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Edward  Williams  and  his  wife  Jane,  with 
whom  he  was  in  close  friendship  till  the  end  of  his 
life.  Williams  was  a  lieutenant  of  dragoons,  now 
on  half  pay,  and  a  friend  of  Medwin.  He  had 
first  been  in  the  navy,  but  "  detested  the  tyranny 
practised  on  men-of-war."  He  was  a  year  or 
two  younger  than  Shelley,  and  seems  to  have 
been  a  man  of  simple  and  charming  character. 
His  wife  also  was  charming,  and  played  well 
enough  on  the  guitar  to  delight  Shelley.  Mary 
said  that  she  was  very  pretty,  but  wanted  anima- 
tion. Shelley  appears  not  to  have  found  this 
fault  in  her,  although  he  said  that  she  was  not 
very  clever.  He  addressed  several  famous  poems 
to  her ;  and  in  after  years  she  seems  to  have 
represented  that  she  understood  Shelley  better 
than  Mary  understood  him,  and  even  that  Mary 
vexed  him  with  causeless  jealousies.  When  Mary 
discovered  this  there  was  an  end  of  close  friend- 
ship, though  no  open  quarrel,  between  them. 

Keats  died  at  Rome  on  February  23,  and  Shelley 
was  moved  to  indignation  by  the  story,  false  but 

260 


"ADONAIS"   AND   "HELLAS" 

commonly  believed,  that  he  had  been  killed  by 
the  article  on  "  Endymion '  in  the  Quarterly 
Review.  In  June  he  wrote  "  Adonais,"  his  elegy 
on  the  death  of  Keats.  He  and  Keats  had  never 
been  close  friends,  and  he  seems  to  have  had  no 
great  admiration  for  any  of  Keats' s  poems  except 
' '  Hyperion . "  In  the  others  he  found  only  promise. 
But  he  had  been  eager  in  offers  of  service  to  Keats, 
for  he  saw  that  Keats  was  a  poet  devoted  to  his 
art  ;  and  in  ' '  Adonais  '  he  wrote  of  the  glory 
of  that  art,  and  the  mystery  of  death,  as  much 
as  of  Keats  himself.  It  is  no  more  an  expression 
of  personal  grief  than  "  Lycidas  "  ;  but  this  is 
no  defect,  for  Shelley  makes  no  pretence  in  it  of 
any  emotion  he  does  not  feel.  He  uses  the  classi- 
cal machinery,  as  Milton  used  it,  so  that  he  may 
connect  his  theme  with  the  great  poetic  tradition 
of  the  world  ;  so  that  he  may  represent  Keats 
as  one  of  a  long  series  of  poets,  all  natives  of  the 
same  enchanted  country  and  all  children  of  the 
same  mother,  Urania. 

Many  conventions  of  art  have  been  discredited, 
because  they  have  been  used  by  unimaginative 
men  to  conceal  their  want  of  imagination.  How 
many  painters  have  painted  draperies  rather  than 
clothes,  because  draperies  were  supposed  to  belong 
to  imaginative  painting.  How  many  versifiers 
have  written  pastorals  for  the  same  reason.  Yet 
Raphael,  when  he  painted  draperies,  knew  what 
he  was  about  ;  and  so  did  Milton,  when  he  wrote 
pastorals.     Each  of  these  great  artists  removed 

261 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

his  work  from  the  plane  of  immediate  reality 
because  he  wished  to  represent  a  state  of  being 
belonging,  not  to  a  particular  age,  but  to  all 
time  ;  because  the  peculiarities  of  his  age  were 
not  relevant  to  his  theme.  So  it  was  with  Shelley 
when  he  wrote  "  Adonais."  He  was  not  con- 
cerned with  the  fact  that  his  poet  was  called  John 
Keats,  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  man  who  kept  a 
livery  stable,  or  that  he  had  been  an  assistant 
in  a  chemist's  shop.  These  were  mere  accidents 
of  his  theme.  The  essence  was  the  death  of  a 
young  poet,  misunderstood  by  the  world,  and  the 
emotions  which  that  event  stirred  in  Shelley's 
mind.  He  seems  to  begin  the  poem  with  a  ritual 
chant,  varied  and  repeated  through  many  stanzas, 
as  becomes  one  poet  making  solemn  music  for  the 
funeral  of  another.  But  gradually  the  music 
becomes  more  individual,  and  Shelley's  own  pecu- 
liar imagination  expresses  itself  in  the  first  pastoral 
allusion  : — 

"  Oh,  weep  for  Adonais  ! — The  quick  Dreams, 
The  passion-winged  ministers  of  thought, 
Who  were  his  flocks,  whom  near  the  living  streams 
Of  his  young  spirit  he  fed,  and  whom  he  taught 
The  love  which  was  its  music,  wander  not, — 
Wander  no  more,  from  kindling  brain  to  brain, 
But  droop  there,  whence  they  sprung  ;   and  mourn  their 

lot 
Round  the  cold  heart,  where,   after  their  sweet  pain, 

They  ne'er  will  gather  strength,  or  find  a  home  again." 

For  Shelley  thoughts  and  emotions  and  the 
voices  of  the  earth  and  sky  were  as  real  as  men 
and  women,  and  all  these  have  the  same  kind 

262 


"ADONAIS"  AND   "HELLAS" 

of  reality  in  "  Adonais  "  as  in  '■  Prometheus."  In 
fact  he  empties  some  things  of  their  particularities 
only  to  make  other  things  more  real,  and  thus 
his  abstract  method  is  justified.  It  seems  natural 
to  us,  with  our  minds  quickened  by  Shelley's 
music,  that  the  inspirations  of  the  poet  should 
mourn  for  him,  and  that  their  moving  pomp 
should  be  compared  to  the — 

"  Pageantry  of  mist  on  an  autumnal  stream." 

Shelley,  like  a  great  composer,  creates  a  world 
of  his  own  with  the  power  of  his  music,  in  which 
old  myths  seem  to  be  new  ;  and  there  is  nothing 
frigid  in  the  lines — 

"  Lost  Echo  sits  amid  the  voiceless  mountains, 
And  feeds  her  grief  with  his  remembered  lay, 
And  will  no  more  reply  to  winds  or  fountains, 
Or  amorous  birds  perched  on  the  young  green  spray  "  ; 

or  in  the  description  of  Urania  coming  from  her 
secret  Paradise  to  mourn  over  her  son  in  his 
death-chamber  ;  or  in  the  appearance  of  Byron, 
Moore,  Leigh  Hunt,  and  Shelley  himself  trans- 
formed yet  recognizable  as  mountain  shepherds. 
Shelley's  description  of  himself  is  as  good  an 
example  as  could  be  found  of  ideal  poetry,  for 
it  conveys  a  just  idea  of  him  without  any  state- 
ments of  actual  fact  : — 

"  'Midst  others  of  less  note,  came  one  frail  Form, 
A  phantom  among  men  ;    companionless 
As  the  last  note  of  an  expiring  storm 
Whose  thunder  is  its  knell  ;    he,  as  I  guess, 
Had  gazed  on  nature's  naked  loveliness, 

263 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Actaeon-like,  and  now  he  fled  astray 
With  feeble  steps  o'er  the  world's  wilderness, 
And  his  own  thoughts,  along  that  rugged  way, 
Pursued,  like  raging  hounds,  their  father  and  their  prey. 

A  pard-like  Spirit  beautiful  and  swift — 
A  Love  in  desolation  masked  ; — a  Power 
Girt  round  with  weakness  ; — it  can  scarce  uplift 
The  weight  of  the  superincumbent  hour ; 
It  is  a  dying  lamp,  a  falling  shower, 
A  breaking  billow  ; — even  whilst  we  speak 
Is  it  not  broken  ?     On  the  withering  flower 
The  killing  sun  smiles  brightly  ;    on  a  cheek 
The  life  can  burn  in  blood,  even  while  the  heart  may  break. 

His  head  was  bound  with  pansies  over-blown, 
And  faded  violets,  white,  and  pied,  and  blue ; 
And  a  light  spear  topped  with  a  cypress  cone, 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy-tresses  grew 
Yet  dripping  with  the  forest's  noonday  dew, 
Vibrated,  as  the  ever-beating  heart 
Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasped  it ;    of  that  crew 
He  came  the  last,  neglected  and  apart : 
A  herd-abandoned  deer,   struck  by  the  hunter's  dart." 

At  the  fortieth  stanza  there  is  a  change  in  the 
poem.  The  pastoral  convention  drops  away,  and 
it  becomes  a  hymn  to  the  glory  of  art  and  the 
mystery  of  death  : — 

"  He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night ; 
Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain, 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight, 
Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again." 

The  burden,  "  O,  weep  for  Adonais,"  changes  to — 

"  Mourn  not  for  Adonais. — Thou  young  Dawn, 
Turn  all  thy  dew  to  splendour,  for  from  thee 
The  spirit  thou  lamentest  is  not  gone." 

264 


"ADONAIS"  AND   "HELLAS" 

As  to  the  nature  of  immortality  Shelley  is  uncer- 
tain, but  he  is  filled  with  an  immense  hope.  He 
seems  at  one  moment  to  be  satisfied  with  a  kind 
of  Pantheism  ;  but  then  his  imagination  makes 
his  faith  stronger  and  clearer,  and  he  tells  us  how 
"the  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown,"  welcoming 
their  "new-admired  guests" — 

"  Rose,  robed  in  dazzling  immortality. 

'  Thou  art  become  as  one  of  us, '  they  cry  ; 

It  was  for  thee  yon  kingless  sphere  has  long 

Swung  blind  in  unascended  majesty, 

Silent  alone  amid  an  heaven  of  song, 
Assume  thy  winged  throne,  thou  Vesper  of  our  throng  !  " 

Here  Shelley  makes  a  new  kind  of  myth,  alto- 
gether free  from  all  earthly  circumstance,  in  which 
imagery  convinces  us  that  it  is  fact,  since  it  tells 
us  of  new  things  that  could  only  come  to  the 
poet's  mind  or  be  conveyed  to  ours  in  images. 
There  follows  a  strange  verse  in  which  Shelley,  as 
elsewhere,  seems  to  grow  dizzy  with  the  height 
to  which  he  has  soared  and  yet  to  nerve  himself 
for  a  farther  flight. 

"  Who  mourns  for  Adonais  ?     Oh,  come  forth, 
Fond  wretch  !    and  know  thyself  and  him  aright. 
Clasp  with  thy  panting  soul  the  pendulous  earth  ; 
As  from  a  centre,  dart  thy  spirit's  light 
Beyond  all  worlds,  until  its  spacious  might 
Satiate  the  void  circumference  :    then  shrink 
Even  to  a  point  within  our  day  and  night  ; 
And  keep  thy  heart  light,  lest  it  make  thee  sink 

When  hope  has  kindled  hope,  and  lured  thee  to  the  brink." 

Here  he  seems  to  be  passing  beyond  all  imagery 

265 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

in  the  effort  to  express  naked  thoughts  that  cannot 
be  clothed  in  words  ;  but  imagery  returns  trium- 
phantly in  the  famous  lines — 

"  The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass  ; 
Heaven's  light  for  ever  shines,  Earth's  shadows  fly  ; 
Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-coloured  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  Eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments." 

This  image  also  conveys  a  new  truth  that  could 
not  be  divorced  from  it,  for  it  is  a  truth  conceived 
only  by  the  co-operation  of  intellect  and  emotion, 
and  therefore  not  to  be  expressed  except  by  the 
same  co-operation — that  is  to  say,  in  an  image. 
The  poem  ends  in  a  prophecy  of  Shelley's  own 
approaching  fate.  His  mind  has  seen  so  far  into 
eternity  that  it  can  no  longer  be  satisfied  with  time, 
and  is  carried  into  the  future  by  the  momentum  of 
its  inspiration — 

"  The  breath  whose  might  I  have  invoked  in  song 
Descends  on  me  ;    my  spirit's  bark  is  driven, 
Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 
Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given  ; 
The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven  ! 
I  am  borne  darkly,  fearfully,  afar ; 
Whilst  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  Heaven, 
The  soul  of  Adonais,  like  a  star, 

Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are." 

"  Adonais "  seems  to  me  the  most  perfect 
poem  of  any  length  that  Shelley  ever  wrote, 
because  in  it  he  found  the  subject  most  suited  to 
his  genius.  It  combines  music  with  abstract 
ideas  as  they  have  never  been  combined  before  or 

266 


"ADONAIS"   AND   "HELLAS" 

since.  It  is  as  perfect  in  form  as  in  matter,  for  it 
starts  with  a  familiar  theme,  and  only  gradually  and 
by  a  natural  process  takes  us  into  the  unknown, 
moving  from  the  ancient  pastoral  country  of 
poetry  to  Shelley's  own  untrodden  wildernesses 
and  airy  heights  of  thought.  He  himself  called 
it  the  least  imperfect  of  his  compositions,  and  a 
highly- wrought  piece  of  art. 

At  the  beginning  of  August  Shelley  went  to 
see  Byron  at  Ravenna,  who,  under  the  influence 
of  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  had  now  purged  and 
was  living  cleanly  like  a  gentleman.  Byron  told 
him  that  Elise,  the  dismissed  Swiss  maid,  probably 
at  the  instigation  of  her  husband,  had  slandered 
him  grossly  to  the  Hoppners.  Her  story  was 
that  Shelley  had  got  Claire  with  child,  and  had 
then  given  her  a  violent  medicine  to  procure 
abortion  ;  that  in  spite  of  this  a  child  had  been 
born,  which  Shelley  had  immediately  sent  to  a 
foundling  hospital ;  also  that  he  neglected  and 
beat  Mary. 

He  asked  Mary  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Hoppners 
refuting  the  charge.  Mary  at  once  wrote  a  letter 
to  Mrs.  Hoppner  in  which,  after  dealing  with  the 
slander,  she  took  occasion  to  speak  of  the  perfect 
confidence  and  affection  which  existed  between 
her  and  her  husband,  ending  with  some  reproaches 
to  Mrs.  Hoppner  for  believing  such  a  tale  about 
Shelley  and  Claire,  and  for  repeating  it  to  Byron. 
Byron  acted  badly  throughout  the  affair.  He 
professed  to  the  Hoppners  to  believe  the  story  and 

267 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

then  repeated  it  to  Shelley,  although  he  had 
promised  Mr.  Hoppner  not  to  do  so.  Thus  he 
was  in  a  difficulty  when  Shelley  gave  him  Mary's 
letter  under  promise  that  he  would  send  it  on  to 
Mrs.  Hoppner.  If  he  did  this  he  would  have  to 
confess  that  he  had  told  Shelley  what  he  had  pro- 
mised not  to  tell.  He  was  not  a  man,  as  Shelley 
said,  to  keep  a  secret  good  or  bad ;  but  still 
Shelley  trusted  him  more  than  he  deserved,  for 
he  never  sent  the  letter  on  to  Mrs.  Hoppner,  and 
it  was  found  among  his  papers  after  his  death. 
The  only  thing  that  can  be  said  for  him,  which  is 
not  much,  is  that  he  did  not  destroy  it.  We  may 
take  it  that  he  put  off  the  disagreeable  task  of 
sending  it  on  and  making  his  confession  to  the 
Hoppners,  until  it  slipped  out  of  his  mind.  Elise 
afterwards  wrote  to  Mrs.  Shelley  denying  that 
she  had  ever  said  anything  to  Mrs.  Hoppner 
against  Shelley  or  Claire.  She  added  that  she 
had  never  seen  anything  in  the  conduct  of  Claire 
that  could  justify  any  insinuations  against  her. 

Shelley  could  not  ask  favours  of  Byron  for 
himself,  but  he  could  ask  them  for  another. 
Leigh  Hunt  at  this  time  was  in  great  straits.  He 
had  been  very  ill,  and  his  paper,  the  Examiner, 
had  fallen  low  in  circulation  during  his  illness. 
Mrs.  Hunt  wrote  to  Mary  asking  that  Shelley 
would  urge  her  husband  to  come  out  to  Italy 
for  the  good  of  his  health.  At  Ravenna  Shelley 
told  Byron  of  Hunt's  evil  case,  and  Byron,  in 
one   of  his   generous   fits,   proposed   that    Leigh 

268 


"ADONAIS"   AND   "HELLAS" 

Hunt  should  come  to  Italy  and  should  join  himself 
and  Shelley  in  a  magazine  in  which  all  their  future 
works  should  be  published,  the  profits  to  be  shared 
between  them.  Shelley  refused  this  offer  for 
himself,  thinking  that  his  reputation  would  do 
the  venture  no  good,  and  that  he  was  a  writer  of 
too  little  fame  to  be  a  partner  on  equal  terms  with 
the  other  two  ;  but  he  wrote  at  once  to  Hunt 
to  tell  him  of  Byron's  proposal.  Hunt  accepted 
it  with  delight,  not  knowing  that  Byron's  gener- 
osity, however  sincere  in  project,  was  apt  to  fail 
in  performance.  Byron,  after  much  wavering, 
made  up  his  mind  to  live  for  a  while  at  Pisa,  and 
Shelley  took  the  Lanfranchi  Palace  on  the  Lung' 
Arno  there  for  him.  He  came  to  Pisa  on  Novem- 
ber i.  Shelley  and  Mary  went  into  lodgings 
opposite  to  his  palace.  About  this  time  Shelley 
was  moved,  by  what  he  read  in  the  newspapers 
of  the  War  of  Independence  in  Greece,  to  write 
his  lyrical  drama  "  Hellas."  He  called  it  in  the 
preface  "a  mere  improvise."  It  has  the  defects 
of  an  improvisation  in  its  structure,  and  often  in 
its  execution.  "  The  '  Persae '  of  iEschylus," 
he  says,  "afforded  me  the  first  model  of  my  con- 
ception, although  the  decision  of  the  glorious 
contest  now  waging  in  Greece  being  yet  suspended 
forbids  a  catastrophe  parallel  to  the  return  of 
Xerxes  and  the  desolation  of  the  Persians.  I 
have,  therefore,  contented  myself  with  exhibiting 
a  series  of  lyric  pictures,  and  with  having  wrought 
upon  the  curtain  of  futurity,  which  falls  upon  the 

269 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

unfinished  scene,  such  figures  of  indistinct  and 
visionary  delineation  as  suggest  the  final  triumph 
of  the  Greek  cause  as  a  portion  of  the  cause  of 
civilisation  and  social  improvement." 

As  a  play  "Hellas"  is  nothing.  The  reader 
can  take  no  interest  in  the  characters  or  in  the 
succession  of  events.  These  are  mere  pretexts 
for  passages  of  description  and  meditation  upon 
human  fate,  or  for  the  choruses,  by  two  of  which 
the  work  is  chiefly  remembered. 

You  may  read  "  Hellas "  once  to  discover 
what  there  is  in  it,  but  you  are  not  likely  to  read 
it  again  for  its  own  sake,  for  it  is  not  interesting. 
It  contains  wonderful  lines  and  passages  which  the 
reader  can  mark  as  he  comes  upon  them,  so  that 
he  may  know  where  to  find  them  again.  But  he 
can  enjoy  them  just  as  well  without  their  context 
as  with  it.     Such  are  the  lines  : — 

"  Kings  are  like  stars— they  rise  and  set,  they  have 
The  worship  of  the  world,  but  no  repose." 

Or  the  passage  in  which  the  home  of  a  shadowy 
Jew,  Ahasuerus,  is  described  : — 

"  He  who  would  question  him 
Must  sail  alone  at  sunset,  where  the  stream 
Of  ocean  sleeps  around  those  foamless  isles, 
When  the  young  moon  is  westering  as  now, 
And  evening  airs  wander  upon  the  wave  ; 
And  when  the  pines  of  that  bee-pasturing  isle, 
Great  Erebinthus,  quench  the  fiery  shadow 
Of  his  gilt  prow  within  the  sapphire  water, 
Then  must  the  lonely  helmsman  cry  aloud 
'  Ahasuerus.'  " 

270 


"  ADONAIS  "   AND  -"  HELLAS  " 

But  the  two  famous  choruses  are  separate  and 
finished  works  of  art,  and  they  seem  to  me  to  be 
the  finest  lyrics  of  their  kind  in  our  language. 

The  English  lyric  has  two  different  origins,  the 
one  indigenous,  and  the  other  foreign.  It  has 
been  developed  partly  out  of  folk-song  and  partly 
under  the  influence  of  Greek  or  Graxo-Roman 
models.1  Without  the  folk-song  origin  it  would 
have  been  a  mere  academic  exercise,  too  far 
from  common  speech  to  have  either  character  or 
spontaneous  melody.  There  is  not  enough  of 
the  folk-song  influence  in  the  odes  of  Gray,  and 
still  less  in  the  Pindarics  of  Cowley.  But  a  poet 
who  is  a  master  of  folk-song — that  is  to  say,  of 
the  art  of  making  simple  music  out  of  simple 
language — may  greatly  increase  the  power  and 
diversity  of  his  music,  and,  indeed,  of  all  his 
means  of  expression,  if  he  can  submit  himself 
skilfully  to  the  classical  influence. 

Folk-song  is,  as  it  were,  the  music  of  a  single 
voice.  The  classical  lyrics  are  choral  or  even 
orchestral.  They  have  a  great  variety  of  music ; 
for  in  them  the  Latin  and  more  abstract  elements 
of  our  language  can  be  freely  used,  and  the  struc- 
ture of  the  sentences  can  be  almost  as  elaborate 
and  diverse  as  in  eloquent  prose.  They  are  also 
instruments  for  the  expression  of  emotions  more 
various  and  more  intellectual,  such  as  the  emotions 
aroused  by  general  ideas  ;    and  they  are  even 

1  Of  course  the  influence  of  French  and  Italian  poetry 
has  also  been  strong  in  most  periods  of  our  literature. 

271 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

capable  of  expressing  general  ideas  themselves. 
We  may  find  the  beginnings  of  the  classical 
lyric,  perhaps,  in  Spenser's  "  Epithalamium." 
It  has  been  wonderfully  developed  by  Crashaw, 
and  rises  almost  to  its  perfection  in  Milton's 
"Blest  Pair  of  Syrens."  It  begins  to  grow  pedantic 
in  Dryden's  odes,  is  degraded  into  vulgar  non- 
sense by  Pope,  rises  again  in  the  odes  of  Gray  and 
Collins,  becomes  natural  in  those  of  Wordsworth, 
and  is  perfected  by  Shelley  in  the  two  great  chor- 
uses of  "Hellas,"  "Worlds  on  worlds  are  rolling 
ever,"  and  "The  world's  great  age  begins  anew." 
The  classical  influence  came  to  Spenser,  to  Crashaw, 
and  perhaps  to  Milton  mainly  through  Italian 
poetry.  To  Wordsworth  it  probably  came  through 
Milton.  To  Shelley  it  came  straight  from  the 
classics,  and  he  used  it  with  a  Greek  lucidity  and 
sonority,  and  yet  with  all  the  native  music  of  the 
language,  to  express  general  ideas  that  had  never 
before  been  expressed  in  lyric  poetry  : — 

"  Swift  as  the  radiant  shapes  of  sleep 
From  one  whose  dreams  are  Paradise 
Fly,  when  the  fond  wretch  wakes  to  weep, 
And  Day  peers  forth  with  her  blank  eyes  ; 
So  fleet,  so  faint,  so  fair. 
The  Powers  of  earth  and  air 
Fled  from  the  folding-star  of  Bethlehem  : 
Apollo,  Pan,  and  Love, 
And  even  Olympian  Jove, 
Grew  weak,  for  killing  Truth  had  glared  on  them  ; 
Our  hills  and  seas  and  streams, 
Dispeopled  of  their  dreams. 
Their  waters  turned  to  blood,  their  dew  to  tears, 
Wailed  for  the  golden  years." 

272 


"ADONAIS"  AND   "HELLAS" 

The  closing  chorus  is  more  symmetrical  in  its 
form  and  more  simple  in  its  theme.  But  the 
music  has  the  same  clearness,  the  same  swift 
yet  stately  movement : — 

"  A  loftier  Argo  cleaves  the  main, 
Fraught  with  a  richer  prize  ; 
Another  Orpheus  sings  again, 

And  loves,  and  weeps,  and  dies. 
A  new  Ulysses  leaves  once  more 
Calypso  for  his  native  shore." 

But  Shelley  cannot,  like  Virgil,  sustain  his  song 
of  exultant  hope  to  the  end.  As  in  the  "  Ode 
to  Liberty,"  he  towers  only  to  sink  in  a  sudden 
descent  as  beautiful  as  his  upward  flight : — 

"  Oh  cease  !    must  hate  and  death  return  ? 

Cease  !    must  men  kill  and  die  ? 
Cease  !    drain  not  to  its  dregs  the  urn 

Of  bitter  prophecy. 
The  world  is  weary  of  the  past, 
Oh,  might  it  die  or  rest  at  last !  " 

He  tells  us  in  a  note  that  this  final  chorus  is 
"  indistinct  and  obscure  as  the  event  of  the  living 
drama  whose  arrival  it  foretells."  The  ardent 
spirits  of  Isaiah  and  Virgil,  "  overleaping  the 
actual  reign  of  evil  which  we  endure  and  bewail, 
already  saw  the  possible  and  perhaps  approaching 
state  of  society  in  which  the  '  lion  shall  lie  down 
with  the  Iamb  '  and  '  omnis  feret  omnia  tellus.'  " 
Shelley  himself  had  foretold  such  a  state  in  his 
"Prometheus  Unbound";  but  now,  when  he 
was  dealing  with  actual  events,  his  heart  failed 

18  273 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

m 

him.  He  knew  that  the  Golden  Age  would  not 
come  with  the  freedom  of  Greece,  and  therefore 
he  ended  with  a  cry  of  that  despondency  which 
overcame  him  from  time  to  time.  And  yet  he 
could  write  to  Medwin  about  this  time  in  language 
very  like  some  famous  words  of  Walt  Whitman  : 
"  My  mind  is  at  peace  respecting  nothing  so  much 
as  the  constitution  and  mysteries  of  the  great 
system  of  things — my  curiosity  on  this  point 
never  amounts  to  solicitude."  This  peace  of 
thought  he  was  no  doubt  gradually  acquiring  ; 
but  it  had  not  yet  become  emotional  peace,  and 
therefore  could  not  yet  be  expressed  in  poetry. 
There  is  little  peace  in  the  many  beautiful  lyrics 
of  this  year.  Indeed  the  most  famous  of  them 
would  sound  like  a  cry  Of  despair,  but  for  its  music, 
which  is  triumphant  in  beauty : — 

"  O  world  !    O  life  !    O  time  ! 

On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 
Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before  ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime  ? 

No  more — oh,  never  more  ! 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 

A  joy  has  taken  flight ; 
Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar, 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 

No  more — oh,  never  more  !  " 

Only  bad  art  is  dreary  ;  all  good  art  increases 
our  vitality,  whatever  its  subject  may  be.  In 
this  poem  is  expressed,  not  merely  a  passing 
mood    of    depression,    but    Shelley's    passionate 

274 


(I 


ADONAIS"  AND   "HELLAS'' 


struggle  with  that  depression  and  his  triumph 
over  it  in  the  act  of  expressing  it.  For  the  music 
of  the  words  expresses  rather  the  joy  which  the 
poet  thinks  he  has  lost  for  ever  than  his  despair 
at  the  loss  of  that  joy,  and  expresses  it  all  the 
more  keenly  because  he  cannot  for  the  moment 
experience  it.  Another  poem  of  this  year  is  the 
"  Bridal  Song,"  of  which  there  are  two  versions 
extant  besides  the  final  one.  From  this  we  may 
conclude  that  Shelley  spent  much  pains  upon 
the  poem  ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  most  polished 
of  all  his  lyrics,  combining  the  wild  music 
of  folk-song  with  a  classical  stateliness  and 
lucidity : — 

"  The  golden  gates  of  sleep  unbar 

Where  strength  and  beauty  met  together, 
Kindle  their  image  like  a  star 
In  a  sea  of  glassy  weather. 
Night,  with  all  thy  stars  look  down,— 

Darkness,  weep  thy  holiest  dew, — 
Never  smiled  the  inconstant  moon 

On  a  pair  so  true. 
Let  eyes  not  see  their  own  delight ; 
Haste,  swift  Hour,  and  thy  flight 
Oft  renew." 

In  this  perfect  union  of  folk-song  and  classical 
music  Shelley  reminds  us  of  Ben  Jonson,  whom 
perhaps  he  took  for  his  model  and  certainly  sur- 
passed. 

There  are  certain  poems  written  about  this 
time  to  Jane  and  Edward  Williams,  from  which 
we  might  almost  suppose  that  Shelley  had  ceased  to 

275 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

be  happy  with  Mary.     In  one  he  says  to  Jane  : — l 

"  When  I  return  to  my  cold  home,  you  ask 
Why  I  am  not  as  I  have  ever  been  ; 

You  spoil  me  for  the  task 
Of  acting  a  forced  part  in  life's  dull  scene, — 
Of  wearing  on  my  brow  the  idle  mask 
Of  author,  great  or  mean, 
In  the  world's  carnival.     I  sought 
Peace  thus,  and  but  in  you  I  found  it  not." 

Shelley  had  a  strong  affection  for  Mary  ;  but 
he  was  used  to  it  and  to  her,  and  he  was  always 
eager  for  some  new  delight  not  staled  by  use. 
He  was  not  aware  of  the  animal  in  himself,  or 
of  the  manner  in  which  nature  could  use  his 
imagination  to  transfigure  his  animal  instincts. 
His  mind  and  his  body  alike  were  always  hungry 
for  passion,  and,  since  he  had  dangerously  idealized 
passion  and  had  the  romantic  habit  of  getting 
his  inspiration  from  it,  he  could  not  regard  his 
hunger  as  a  mere  appetite  that  he  ought  to  suppress 
in  the  interests  both  of  his  character  and  of  his 
art.  It  moved  him  to  write  poetry,  and  there- 
fore he  indulged  it  by  writing  poetry,  not  seeing 
that  he  might  have  written  better  poetry  by 
suppressing  it. 

The  greatest  art  of  the  world  has  not  been 
concerned  with  sexual  matters  ;  and  if  it  is  indeed 

1  The  poem  is  addressed  to  Edward,  but  this  verse 
appears  from  the  context  to  be  meant  for  his  wife.  The 
last  verse  but  one  has  a  remarkable  likeness  in  sense  to 
the  last  verse  of  the  Stanzas  written  in  April,  1814,  when 
the  estrangement  from  Harriet  was  just  begun. 

276 


It 


ADONAIS"  AND   "HELLAS" 


a  result  of  sexual  energy,  it  is  a  result  altogether 
transfigured  by  the  will  and  the  ideals  of  the 
artist.  The  right  conclusion  to  be  drawn  from 
this  theory,  by  those  who  hold  it,  is  that  sexual 
energy,  since  nature  has  given  it  to  us  in  super- 
fluous abundance,  may  be  used  for  other  purposes 
than  the  production  of  children  or  of  works  of 
art  which  take  the  sexual  instinct  for  their  theme. 
It  may  be  that  its  superfluity,  when  subject  to  the 
human  will,  is  the  chief  force  which  men  can 
command  for  the  accomplishment  of  their  ideals ; 
and  that  it  becomes  most  effective  when  its  original 
purpose  is  changed  by  the  human  will  into  con- 
formity with  its  ideals. 

Shelley's  Paradise  was  a  place  in  which  passion 
would  be  always  new  and  yet  always  perfectly 
satisfied,  still  an  appetite  yet  not  subject  to  the 
laws  of  appetite.  He  could  not  imagine  any 
means  of  attaining  to  this  Paradise,  for  it  was  a 
mere  impossibility,  an  incongruous  mixture  of 
present  pleasure  of  the  flesh  with  imagined  delights 
of  the  spirit.  Therefore  it  was  separated  from  the 
world  as  he  knew  it  by  a  gulf  that  his  imagination 
could  not  bridge,  and  that  he  could  only  cross 
by  an  arbitrary  flight  of  fancy.  He  saw  that  it 
was  impossible,  yet  would  not  reconcile  himself  to 
its  impossibility  ;  and  he  was  always  writing  poems 
in  which  he  expressed  both  his  desire  for  it  and  his 
despair  of  it.  Jane  Williams,  like  Emilia  Viviani, 
appears  to  have  aroused  both  the  desire  and  the  des- 
pair ;  and  he  expressed  both  in  a  famous  poem  : — 

277 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

"  One  word  is  too  often  profaned 

For  me  to  profane  it. 
One  feeling  too  falsely  disdained 

For  thee  to  disdain  it ; 
One  hope  is  too  like  despair 

For  prudence  to  smother, 
And  pity  from  thee  is  more  dear 

Than  that  from  another. 

I  can  give  not  what  men  call  love, 

But  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above 

And  the  heavens  reject  not — 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the  morrow, 
The  devotion  to  something  afar 

From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow  ?  *' 

In  prose  he  could  speak  very  coolly  of  Jane  ; 
and  we  must  not  suppose  that  he  had  any  desire 
to  fly  with  her  away  from  her  husband  and  Mary, 
even  in  a  boat,  to  an  Ionian  Isle.  But  the  hunger 
for  a  new  passion  was  in  him,  and  he  indulged  it, 
at  any  rate  so  far  as  to  make  verses  about  it.  I 
cannot  but  think  that  he  might  have  been  better 
employed,  even  in  the  interests  of  his  art.  In 
such  poems  he  took  the  line  of  least  resistance, 
and  was  not  training  himself  for  greater  tasks. 
No  one  else  has  done  this  kind  of  thing  so  well, 
but  there  is  a  futility  in  the  idea  which  betrays 
itself  even  in  the  language.  The  last  two  lines 
would  go  well  with  the  music  of  Balfe. 


278 


CHAPTER     XIV 
THE   LAST   YEAR 

SHELLEY  now  saw  much  of  Byron  and  Byron's 
friends.  He  also  made  a  new  friend,  who 
has  given  us  as  vivid  and  full  an  account  of  the 
last  year  of  his  life  as  Hogg  of  his  Oxford  days. 
Edward  John  Trelawny,  who  was  a  year  younger 
than  Shelley,  had  already  begun  to  live  a  life  of 
adventure.  He  had  read  and  admired  Shelley's 
poetry,  and  had  heard  from  Medwin  and  Williams 
that  Shelley  himself  was  as  remarkable  as  his 
works.  He  came  to  Italy,  partly  to  shoot  in  the 
Maremma,  partly  to  see  Shelley.  Having  ful- 
filled his  first  purpose,  he  arrived  at  Pisa  on  January 
14,  1822,  to  accomplish  his  second.  From  this 
time  he  was  constantly  in  Shelley's  society,  and 
became  his  devoted  friend.  He  had  his  faults,  and 
we  cannot  trust  all  that  he  says.  Indeed,  Byron 
called  him  a  liar.  In  some  things  he  was  capricious, 
but  not  in  his  affection  for  Shelley.  It  is  a  great 
piece  of  luck  for  Shelley's  biographers  that  Tre- 
lawny should,  like  Hogg,  have  had  a  natural 
gift  for  writing,  and  yet  should  have  been  free 
from  Hogg's  tiresome  trick  of  talking  about  him- 
self irrelevantly.    The  Shelley  he  describes  is  the 

279 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

same  man  as  Hogg's  Shelley,  except  that  his 
is  more  mature  and  more  delightful.  Trelawny 
has  this  further  advantage  over  Hogg,  that  he 
gives  us  Shelley  in  company  and  in  contrast 
with  another  man  of  genius.  His  Byron,  though 
represented  with  little  affection,  is  even  more 
living  than  his  Shelley,  and  attracts  us  in  spite  of 
all  his  poses  and  follies.  Trelawny  makes  him 
human,  and  pathetic,  although  he  seems  to  write 
of  him  coolly  and  sceptically.  A  biographer  of 
Shelley  must  be  tempted  to  quote  very  freely 
from  Trelawny,  but,  since  his  book  is  now  easy  to 
buy,  I  shall  not  quote  from  it  more  than  I  can 
help. 

"  I  was  pleased  and  surprised,"  Trelawny  says, 
"  at  Byron's  passiveness  and  docility  in  listening 
to  Shelley  ;  but  all  who  heard  him  felt  the  charm 
of  his  simple,  earnest  manner."  Byron,  he  says, 
never  talked  seriously  and  confidentially  with 
any  person  but  Shelley.  The  contrast  between 
them  in  society  was  as  marked  as  their  characters. 
Byron  was  ill  at  ease,  and  affected  to  care  only 
for  trifles.  Shelley,  "not  thinking  of  himself, 
was  as  much  at  ease  as  in  his  own  home,  omitting 
no  occasion  of  obliging  those  whom  he  came  in 
contact  with,  readily  conversing  with  all  or  any 
who  addressed  him,  irrespective  of  age  or  rank, 
dress  or  address." 

When  Trelawny  was  telling  Shelley  what  he 
thought  of  Byron,  Shelley  called  his  wife,  and 
said  : 

280 


THE   LAST  YEAR 

44  Mary,  Trelawny  has  found  out  Byron  already. 
How  stupid  we  were  ;   how  long  it  took  us." 

"  That,"  she  replied,  "  is  because  he  lives  with 
the  living,  and  we  with  the  dead." 

Although  Shelley  was  never  happy  far  from  a 
river  or  the  sea,  and  spent  much  of  his  time  in  a 
boat,  he  could  not  swim  at  all.  Trelawny  tells 
us  that  once,  when  he  was  bathing  in  a  deep  pool 
in  the  Arno,  Shelley  said  mournfully,  "  Why 
can't  I  swim  ?  It  seems  so  very  easy."  Trelawny 
told  him  that  he  could  not  swim  only  because 
he  thought  he  could  not.  Thereupon  Shelley 
resolved  to  try.  He  plunged  in,  but  lay  stretched 
out  at  the  bottom  like  a  conger  eel,  making  no 
effort  to  save  himself.  Trelawny  fished  him  out, 
and  he  said,  "  I  always  find  the  bottom  of  a  well, 
and  they  say  Truth  lies  there.  In  another  minute 
I  should  have  found  it,  and  you  would  have 
found  an  empty  shell.  It  is  an  easy  way  of  getting 
rid  of  the  body."  Trelawny  remarks  that  "the 
careless,  not  to  say  impatient,  way  in  which  the 
poet  bore  his  burden  of  life,  caused  a  vague  dread 
to  his  family  and  friends  that  he  might  lose  or 
cast  it  away  at  any  moment."  He  seems,  like 
some  of  the  great  saints,  to  have  had  no  instinct 
of  self-preservation  ;  not  from  lack  of  vitality, 
but  because  his  mind  was  almost  independent 
of  his  body,  so  that  he  was  in  danger  of  parting 
with  it  in  a  mere  fit  of  forgetfulness  as  other  men 
part  s/ith  their  umbrellas.  Trelawny  tells  us  how 
he  once  left  him  at  ten  in  the  morning,  reading 

281 


SHELLEY:    THE   MAN  AND  THE  POET 

a  German  folio,  and  returned  at  six  in  the  evening 
to  find  him  still  reading  the  same  folio.  Trelawny 
asked  him  to  come  to  dinner.  He  said  that  he 
had  dined ;  but  Trelawny  pointed  to  a  plate 
containing  bread  and  cold  meat  that  was  on  a 
book-shelf,  and  asked  him  what  it  was.  "  That," 
he  answered,  colouring,  "why,  that  must  be  my 
dinner.  It's  very  foolish  ;  I  thought  I  had  eaten 
it."  "He  seldom  ate  at  stated  periods,  but  only 
when  hungry — and  then  like  the  birds,  if  he  saw 
something  edible  lying  about." 

The  Shelleys  and  Williamses  had  formed  a  plan 
of  going  to  the  Bay  of  Spezzia  together  for  the 
summer  of  1822.  Both  Shelley  and  Williams 
were  anxious  to  have  a  boat.  Trelawny  showed 
them  the  model  of  an  American  schooner,  and 
it  was  resolved  that  Trelawny  should  write  at 
once  to  a  friend  of  his  at  Genoa,  a  Captain  Roberts, 
commissioning  him  to  build  a  boat  for  them. 
On  February  7,  1822,  Shelley  and  Williams  went 
to  Spezzia  to  find  a  house  for  the  summer.  They 
searched  all  along  the  bay  in  vain,  but  the  boat 
was  ordered  and  the  summer  visit  to  the  sea 
could  not  be  given  up. 

Byron  was  urged  by  his  friends  in  England 
not  to  associate  too  much  with  Shelley.  "  To-day  I 
had  another  letter  warning  me  against  the  snake,"  1 
he  said  to  Trelawny.  "  He  alone  in  this  age  of 
humbug  dares  stem  the  current,  as  he  did  to-day 

1  A  nickname  which  Byron  had  given  to  Shelley.  He 
also  called  him  Shiloh. 

282 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

the  flooded  Arno  in  his  skiff,  although  I  could  not 
observe  he  made  any  progress.  The  attempt  is 
better  than  being  swept  along,  as  all  the  rest  are, 
with  the  filthy  garbage  scoured  from  its  banks." 
Indeed,  Byron  clung  to  Shelley  for  companionship, 
and  was,  Mary  Shelley  wrote  in  March  when  there 
were  differences  between  them,  in  a  terrible  fright 
lest  Shelley  should  desert  him.  These  differences 
arose  out  of  the  old  trouble  about  Claire's  child, 
Allegra.  Claire  believed,  and  with  reason,  that 
Allegra  could  not  be  properly  cared  for  in  the 
Capuchin  convent,  where  she  was  being  educated  ; 
and  her  anxieties  increased  when  Byron  left 
Ravenna  and  there  was  no  one  to  look  after  Allegra. 
She  wrote  entreating  Byron  to  let  her  see  Allegra, 
but  he  did  not  answer  her  letter.  Then  she  formed 
wild  schemes  for  kidnapping  Allegra,  from  which 
Shelley  dissuaded  her.  He  agreed  to  intercede 
with  Byron,  but  got  nothing  from  him  ;  indeed, 
he  came  away  from  the  interview  in  a  passion, 
saying  that  he  could  have  knocked  Byron  down 
with  pleasure,  and  almost  provoked  to  challenge 
him  to  a  duel. 

But  Shelley  could  not  break  with  Byron,  even 
if  after  his  first  resentment  he  wished  to  do  so, 
lest  he  should  injure  the  interests  of  Leigh  Hunt. 
Hunt  could  not  get  out  to  Italy  without  money. 
He  got  some  from  Shelley,  and  asked  Shelley  to 
get  more  from  Byron.  On  January  15  Shelley 
sent  to  Hunt  £150  which  he  had  scraped  together. 
Byron,  he  said,  was  disposed  to  be  kind,  and  had 

283 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

assigned  a  portion  of  his  palace  to  Hunt,  and  had 
paid  for  furnishing  it  "  with  that  sort  of  unsuspect- 
ing goodness  which  makes  it  infinitely  difficult  to 
ask  him  for  more."  "  Past  circumstances,"  he 
continued,  "  render  it  impossible  that  I  should 
accept  any  supply  from  him  for  my  own  use,  or  that 
I  should  ask  it  for  yours  if  the  contribution  could 
be  supposed  in  any  manner  to  relieve  me,  or  to  do 
what  I  could  otherwise  have  done."  Yet  Shelley 
was  determined  to  do  all  he  could  to  help  the 
helpless  Hunt,  and,  on  February  15,  he  wrote  to 
Byron  saying  that  Hunt  had  urged  him  more  than 
once  to  ask  Byron  to  lend  him  money.  "  My 
answer  consisted  in  sending  him  all  I  could  spare, 
which  I  have  now  liberally  done."  I  do  not  think 
poor  Hunt's  promise  to  pay  in  a  given  time  is 
worth  very  much,"  he  continues,  "but  mine  is 
less  subject  to  uncertainty,  and  I  should  be  happy 
to  be  responsible  for  any  engagement  he  may 
have  proposed  to  you."  Byron  lent  Hunt  £200 
on  Shelley's  bond,  and  Shelley  did  all  he  could 
to  keep  the  fickle  Byron  in  conceit  with  the 
idea  of  his  partnership  with  Hunt. 

But  he  found  it  more  and  more  difficult  to  do 
anything  for  Hunt.  Hunt  had  been  expected  in 
Italy  before  the  end  of  1821.  His  rooms  had  been 
made  ready  for  him  and  a  cook  hired.  In  March 
Shelley  was  still  urging  him  to  come.  Byron 
had  been  wavering  about  the  project  of  the  journal, 
but  now  he  was  eager  for  it  again  and  impatient 
to  see  Hunt.     "  Particular  circumstances,"  Shelley 

284 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

wrote  on  March  2,  "or  rather,  I  should  say, 
particular  dispositions  in  Lord  Byron's  character, 
render  the  close  and  exclusive  intimacy  with  him 
in  which  I  find  myself  intolerable  to  me  ;  this 
much,  my  best  friend,  I  will  confess  and  confide 
to  you.  No  feelings  of  my  own  shall  injure  or 
interfere  with  what  is  now  nearest  to  them — your 
interest — and  I  will  take  care  to  preserve  the 
little  influence  I  may  have  over  this  Proteus  in 
whom  such  strange  extremes  are  reconciled." 

At  the  beginning  of  1822  Shelley  set  himself  to 
write  a  tragedy  on  Charles  I,  which  he  had  begun 
and  laid  aside  in  1819.  His  object  in  writing  it 
was  to  make  some  money  for  Hunt,  but  he  aban- 
doned it  in  despair  in  June.  Four  scenes  have 
come  down  to  us,  and  the  fragment  of  a  fifth,  all 
in  an  imperfect  state.  They  contain  a  good  deal 
of  eloquent  talk,  but  there  is  no  movement  and 
little  character  in  them.  Archy,  the  Fool,  is 
drawn  after  the  fool  in  King  Lear.  The  Queen 
calls  him  shrewd  and  bitter,  but  his  speeches  are 
mere  academic  exercises  in  a  style  that  is  nothing 
if  not  natural.  His  song,  "  A  widow  bird  sat 
mourning  for  her  love,"  is  the  best  thing  in  the 
whole  fragment ;  and  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
play.  The  effort  to  write  against  the  grain  dulled 
Shelley's  inspiration,  and  he  complained  that  he 
could  write  nothing.  But  still  he  was  busy  trans- 
lating, and  produced  some  beautiful  lyrics  ;  in 
particular  three  addressed  to  Jane  Williams, 
"  The  Invitation,"  "  The  Recollection,"  and  "  With 

285 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

a  Guitar."  Trelawny  tells  us  how  he  found 
Shelley  writing  the  last  of  these  in  a  pine  forest. 
He  picked  up  the  manuscript.  "  It  was  a  fearful 
scrawl,  words  smeared  out  with  his  finger,  and 
one  upon  the  other,  over  and  over  in  tiers  and  all 
run  together  '  in  most  admired  disorder '  ;  it 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  sketch  of  a  marsh 
overgrown  with  bulrushes,  and  the  blots  for  wild 
ducks." 

We  must  not  suppose,  because  he  often  wrote 
hastily  and  left  uncorrected  what  needed  correc- 
tion, that  he  was  not  a  great  master  of  technique. 
He  was  a  far  greater  master  than  many  careful 
poets  who  give  us  no  lines  obviously  imperfect, 
and  he  proved  his  mastery  more  even  in  simple 
metres  than  in  difficult  ones.  In  "  The  Invita- 
tion "  and  "  With  a  Guitar  "  he  makes  the  metre 
of  "  L' Allegro  "  and  "  II  Penseroso  "  his  own, 
lighter,  swifter,  and  freer  than  it  had  ever  been 
before  : — 

"  When  the  night  is  left  behind 
In  the  deep  east,  dun  and  blind, 
And  the  blue  noon  is  over  us 
And  the  multitudinous 
Billows  murmur  at  our  feet, 
Where  the  earth  and  ocean  meet, 
And  all  things  seem  only  one 
In  the  universal  sun."  . 

Shelley  wrote  greater  poems  than  these,  but 
none  more  spontaneous,  none  that  communicates 
more  delight  from  its  own  happy  accomplish- 
ment. 

286 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

In  the  middle  of  April  Claire  and  the  Williamses 
went  to  Spezzia  again  to  look  for  houses.  They 
had  only  just  gone  when  the  Shelleys  received  the 
news  that  Allegra  had  died  of  typhus  fever.  Two 
days  afterwards  Claire  and  the  Williamses  returned, 
saying  they  had  found  only  one  house,  the  Villa 
Magni,  which  was  on  the  east  side  of  the  Bay 
of  Spezzia,  near  the  village  of  San  Terenzo.  Shel- 
ley did  not  tell  Claire  of  her  loss  at  once  ;  for  Byron 
was  close  at  hand,  and  she  might  have  done  any- 
thing in  her  fury  against  him.  His  one  idea  was 
to  get  her  away  from  Pisa.  Therefore  he  insisted 
that  Mary  and  Claire  should  go  at  once  with 
Trelawny  to  the  Villa  Magni,  and  he  would  have 
their  furniture  taken  by  boat  to  Lerici,  a  small 
town  near  the  villa.  The  Williamses  also  must 
come  with  their  furniture,  although  there  was 
only  one  house  for  both  families.  He  had  his 
way.  On  April  26  Mary,  Claire,  and  Trelawny 
set  out.  The  next  day  Shelley  and  the  Williamses 
started  for  Lerici.  The  Williamses  could  not 
find  another  house,  so  Shelley  said  that  room 
must  be  made  for  them  in  the  Casa  Magni,  which 
Mary  succeeded  in  taking.  There  were  great 
difficulties  with  the  furniture  at  the  custom- 
house ;  but  these  were  overcome,  and  they  were 
all  in  the  Casa  Magni  on  May  1. 

Claire  said  she  would  go  back  to  Florence  at 
once.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  discussing  what 
should  be  done  when  she  came  into  the  room, 
saw  that  something  was  the  matter,  and  asked 

287 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

whether  Allegra  was  dead.  Thus  the  news  broke 
itself  to  her.  After  a  day  she  became  tranquil, 
and,  on  May  21,  went  to  Florence. 

The  smaller  and  eastern  division  of  the  Bay  of 
Spezzia  is  called  the  Bay  of  Lerici.  The  Casa 
Magni  is  in  the  depth  of  this  smaller  bay.  Mary 
Shelley  has  described  the  situation  and  country 
for  us.  The  sea  came  close  up  to  the  door,  and 
there  was  a  steep  hill  behind.  The  bay  was  almost 
landlocked.  To  the  east  was  the  Castle  of  Lerici, 
and  to  the  west  Porto  Venere.  The  beach  was 
enclosed  by  precipitous  rocks,  over  which  there 
was  only  a  rough  footpath  to  Lerici.  There  were 
no  sands  or  shingle  on  the  shore.  Some  fine 
ilex  and  walnut  trees  remained  in  Mary's  memory. 
The  whole  scene,  she  says,  was  of  unimaginable 
beauty.  But  for  various  reasons  she  almost 
hated  the  spot,  even  before  she  underwent  the 
greatest  sorrow  of  her  life  in  it.  The  natives, 
she  says,  were  wilder  than  the  place.  The  people 
of  San  Terenzo  were  savages  who  would  go 
by  howling  on  the  beach,  the  women  dancing 
among  the  waves.  They  had  great  difficulty  in 
getting  even  the  poorest  food.  "Had  we  been 
wrecked  on  an  island  in  the  South  Seas,  we  could 
scarcely  have  felt  ourselves  farther  from  civilisa- 
tion and  comfort."  Besides  this  she  was  not  in  a 
fit  state  of  health  to  endure  such  a  life,  and  was 
troubled,  perhaps,  by  Shelley's  affection  for  Jane 
Williams.  However  that  may  be,  there  is  no 
doubt    that   she   was   unhappy   during    the   last 

288 


r. 


< 


* 


z  -3 

w   ? 


Z    P 

<    X 


< 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

months  of  her  married  life,  and  that  there  was 
some  estrangement  between  her  and  Shelley, 
which  she  remembered  with  vain  bitterness  after- 
wards. 

Trelawny  tells  us  that  "  the  Villa  Magni  looked 
more  like  a  boat-  or  bathing-house  than  a  place 
to  live  in.  It  consisted  of  a  terrace  or  ground 
floor,  unpaved,  and  used  for  storing  boat-gear 
and  fishing-tackle,  and  of  a  single  storey  over 
it,  divided  into  a  hall  or  saloon  and  four  small 
rooms,  which  had  once  been  white-washed.  There 
was  one  chimney  for  cooking.  .  .  .  The  only 
good  thing  about  it  was  a  verandah  facing  the 
sea  and  almost  over  it."  The  servants  lived  in 
an  outhouse.  The  house  was  so  near  the  sea 
that  in  a  storm  spray  swept  the  verandah  and 
dashed  against  the  windows.  Both  Mary  and 
Trelawny  remark  that  it  was  like  being  in  a 
ship. 

Shelley  was  boyishly  eager  for  the  arrival  of  the 
new  boat.  Its  design  did  not  please  Trelawny. 
Williams  had  brought  with  him,  on  leaving  Eng- 
land, the  sections  of  a  boat  as  a  model  to  build 
from,  designed  by  a  naval  officer.  Both  he  and 
Shelley  insisted  that  their  craft  should  be  built 
exactly  on  the  same  lines,  although  Captain 
Roberts  and  the  builder  at  Genoa  protested. 
"Williams,"  says  Trelawny,  "was  on  ordinary 
occasions  as  humble-minded  as  Shelley,  but 
having  been  two  or  three  years  in  the  navy, 
and  then  in  the  cavalry,  he  thought  there  was 
l9  289 


SHELLEY :  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

no  vanity  in  his  believing  that  he  was  as  good 
a  judge  of  a  boat  or  a  horse  as  any  man."  When 
the  boat  was  finished,  "  it  took  two  tons  of  iron 
ballast  to  bring  her  down  to  her  bearings,  and 
then  she  was  very  crank  in  a  breeze,  though  not 
deficient  in  beam."  Trelawny  sent  her  from 
Genoa,  under  charge  of  two  steady  seamen  and  a 
sailor  lad,  aged  eighteen,  named  Charles  Vivian. 
Shelley  only  kept  the  boy  and  sent  back  the  two 
seamen,  in  spite  of  their  caution  that  they  were 
needed.  Williams  declared  the  boat  to  be  perfect, 
and  Shelley  said  that  she  passed  the  small  craft 
as  a  comet  might  pass  the  dullest  planet  of  the 
heavens.  But  she  was  thoroughly  undermanned  ; 
for,  though  the  boy  was  quick  and  handy,  Williams 
was  over-anxious  and  wanted  practice,  and  Shelley 
worse  than  useless.  He  was  set  to  steer,  and 
did  so  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  saying  that  '  he 
could  read  and  steer  at  the  same  time,  as  one  was 
mental,  the  other  mechanical."  When  Williams 
cried  "  Luff,"  he  would  put  the  helm  the  wrong 
way.  Then  he  was  put  in  charge  of  the  main 
sheet.  He  was  told  to  let  it  go,  whereupon  it 
jammed  and  the  boat  became  unmanageable. 
His  hat  was  knocked  overboard,  and  he  would 
have  followed  it  if  Trelawny  had  not  held  him. 
Then  Williams  blew  him  up,  whereupon  he  "  put 
his  beloved  Plato  in  his  pocket  and  gave  his  mind 
up  to  fun  and  frolic."  Trelawny  told  W'illiams 
that  they  ought  to  get  a  Genoese  sailor,  accus- 
tomed to  the  coast,  but  Williams  would  not  hear 

290 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

of  it.  In  spite  of  his  occasional  high  spirits  at 
this  time,  Shelley  was  still  often  occupied  with 
thoughts  of  death.  Soon  after  his  arrival  at 
the  Casa  Magni  he  thought  he  saw  Allegra  rise 
naked  from  the  sea,  and  clap  her  hands  and  smile 
at  him.  In  a  letter  to  Trelawny,  who  was  then 
at  Leghorn,  he  asked  him  to  get  some  prussic 
acid.  His  wish  to  possess  it,  he  said,  was  serious, 
and  sprang  from  the  desire  of  avoiding  needless 
suffering.  "  I  need  not  tell  you,"  he  added,  "  I 
have  no  intention  of  suicide  at  present,  but  I 
confess  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  me  to  hold  in  my 
possession  that  Golden  Key  to  the  chamber  of 
perpetual  rest."  One  calm  sultry  evening  he 
asked  Jane,  with  her  two  babies,  to  come  with 
him  in  a  skiff  as  light  as  a  coracle  which  he  had 
had  built.  All  his  friends  were  accustomed  to 
do  what  Shelley  wished,  and  Jane  did  so  this 
time,  squatting  with  her  children  in  the  bottom 
of  the  boat .  Shelley  rowed  round  a  jutting  promon- 
tory into  deep  water  before  Jane  was  aware  that 
they  were  out  of  their  depth.  After  pulling  out 
a  long  way,  Shelley  rested  on  his  oars  and  sank 
into  a  deep  reverie.  Jane,  spellbound  by  terror, 
for  any  movement  would  upset  the  boat,  kept  her 
eyes  upon  him.  She  made  several  remarks,  but 
got  no  answer.  '  She  saw  death  in  his  eyes." 
Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  his  brow  cleared, 
his  face  brightened,  and  he  exclaimed  joy- 
fully : 

"  Now  let  us  together  solve  the  great  mystery." 

291 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Jane,  made  brave  and  clever  by  the  presence  of 
her  babies,  said  in  her  usual  cheerful  voice  : 

"  No,  thank  you,  not  now  ;  I  should  like  my 
dinner  first,  and  so  would  the  children." 

The  spell  was  broken,  and  Shelley  paddled 
back.  As  soon  as  Jane  saw  the  sandy  bottom, 
she  snatched  up  her  babies,  and  clambered  out 
so  hurriedly  that  the  punt  was  capsized.  Natur- 
ally she  vowed  she  would  never  go  in  a  boat  with 
Shelley  again.  "  Who  can  predict  what  he  will 
do  ?  "  she  cried.  "  And  he  casts  a  spell  over 
everything.  You  can  form  some  notion  of  what 
other  people  will  do,  as  they  partake  of  our  common 
nature — not  what  he  will  do.  He  is  seeking  after 
what  we  all  avoid,  death.  I  wish  we  were  away. 
I  shall  always  be  in  terror." 

But  Jane  played  on  her  guitar  to  him  in  the 
summer  evenings,  and  he  spent  the  summer  days 
upon  the  water.  She  was  again  with  child,  and 
her  spirits  were  low.  Afterwards  she  wrote : 
''  No  words  can  tell  you  how  I  hated  our  house 
and  the  country  about  it.  .  .  .  The  beauty  of 
the  woods  made  me  weep  and  shudder.  .  .  .  My 
only  moments  of  peace  were  on  board  that  un- 
happy boat — when,  lying  down  with  my  head  on 
his  knee,  I  shut  my  eyes  and  felt  the  wind  and 
our  swift  motion  alone."  In  May  Shelley  wrote 
to  Claire  that  Mary  still  continued  to  suffer  terribly 
from  languor  and  hysterical  affections.  Even 
Jane,  he  said,  pined  after  her  own  house  and 
saucepans.      He  thought  it  a  pity  that  anyone  so 

292 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

pretty  and  amiable  should  be  so  selfish.  On  June 
16,  Mary,  after  a  week  of  illness,  suffered  a  severe 
miscarriage.  There  was  no  doctor  to  be  got ;  so 
Shelley  took  matters  into  his  own  hands,  and,  by 
making  her  sit  in  ice,  checked  the  haemorrhage 
and  fainting  fits.  She  soon  began  to  recover, 
but  still  suffered  much  from  depression.  Shelley 
seems  not  to  have  understood  that  no  woman  is 
herself  in  such  a  case ;  for,  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Gisborne,  written  on  June  18,  he  says :  "I  only 
feel  the  want  of  those  who  can  feel,  and  under- 
stand me.  Whether  from  proximity,  or  the 
continuity  of  domestic  intercourse,  Mary  does  not. 
The  necessity  of  concealing  from  her  thoughts 
that  would  pain  her  necessitates  this  perhaps.  It 
is  the  curse  of  Tantalus  that  a  person  possessing 
such  excellent  powers  and  so  pure  a  mind  as  hers 
should  not  excite  the  sympathy  indispensable  to 
their  application  to  domestic  life."  Here  we  see 
Shelley  at  his  worst.  In  this  mood  he  is  as  far 
from  his  best  self  as  these  cold  and  pompous 
phrases  are  from  his  poems.  But  there  is  a  vast 
difference  between  the  best  and  worst  of  all  men 
except  those  who  have  neither  vices  nor  virtues. 
Mary  was  his  wife,  and  he  expected  her  to  be  a 
part  of  himself  and  to  share  all  his  moods.  He 
could  not  always  make  allowances  for  the  weak- 
ness of  the  flesh  in  her,  or  for  the  fact  that  she 
was  a  woman  with  the  separate  instincts  and 
purposes  of  her  sex.  It  was  mere  selfishness  in 
Jane,    he   thought,  that  she   should    pine   after 

293 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

her  own  house  and  saucepans,  when  he  and 
Williams  wanted  to  live  together  in  a  beautiful 
wilderness.  And,  when  Mary  had  no  energies  left 
to  share  his  dreams  and  raptures,  he  could  not 
see  that  she  had  her  own  separate  and  important 
business  in  life,  to  which  she  was  powerfully 
drawn  by  nature. 

In  little  things  he  must  often  have  been  a  trying 
husband,  and  the  more  trying  as  his  wife's  womanly 
instincts  grew  stronger  with  maternity.    Trelawny 
tells  us  how  once  a  visitor  from  Genoa  was  expected 
to  whom  Shelley  was  anxious  to  do  honour.     He 
disappeared    beforehand,    as    usual,    but    under 
promise  to  be  back  in  good  time,  so  that  Mary 
might  brush  his  hair  and  smarten  him  up.     The 
visitor  arrived,  anxious  to  see  the  poet  ;   but  not 
the  poet  himself.     They  sat  down  to  dinner  with- 
out him.     Trelawny,  who  sometimes  tries  to  make 
a  good  story  too  good,  says  that  some  one  was 
just  remarking  that  genius  purines,  and  that  the 
naked  statues  of  the  Greeks  are  modest,  when  the 
talk  was  interrupted  by  a  concussion  of  glass  and 
crockery,  and  one  of  the  ladies  cried,  "Oh,  my 
gracious !  "     She    had   good   reason.     For   there 
was  the  poet,  "washed,  indeed,  for  he  was  just 
out  of  the  sea  "  ;  but  not  in  an  evening  costume, 
nor,    indeed,    in    any    costume    at    all.     "  Small 
fragments  of  sea-weed  clung  to  his  hair,  and  he 
was  odorous  of  the  salt  brine — he  scorned  encum- 
bering himself  with  combs  or  towels."     But  for 
the  lady's  exclamation  he  might  not  have  been 

294 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

seen,  for  he  was  gliding  noiselessly  round  the  two 
sides  of  the  saloon  to  his  room  ;  and  the  Italian 
maid,  with  accustomed  tact,  walked  by  his  side, 
carefully  screening  him  from  the  company.  Being 
discovered,  he  thought  it  necessary  to  explain, 
so  stopping  beside  the  lady  who  had  cried  out,  he 
said  :  "  How  can  I  help  it  ?  I  must  go  to  my 
room  to  get  my  clothes  ;  there  is  no  way  to  get 
to  it  but  through  this.  At  this  hour  I  have  always 
found  this  place  vacant.  I  have  not  altered  my 
hour  of  bathing,  but  you  have  changed  yours  for 
dining."  It  appeared  that  the  boat  had  upset 
all  his  clothes  into  the  water. 

He  then  glided  from  the  puddle  he  had  made 
on  the  floor  to  the  dormitory,  and  reappeared  in 
a  few  minutes,  taking  his  place  at  table,  and 
unconscious  that  he  had  done  anything  to  offend 
anyone. 

All  this  time  he  was  occupied  with  the  last 
of  his  longer  poems,  "  The  Triumph  of  Life,"  which 
he  left  unfinished.  There  are  about  540  lines  of 
it,  with  here  and  there  a  word  or  part  of  a  line 
wanting  ;  enough  to  show  that  his  powers  of 
execution  had  never  been  so  great,  though  not 
enough  for  any  certain  judgment  of  the  conception 
and  design.  "  The  Triumph  of  Life  "  is  written  in 
terza  rima,  a  very  difficult  metre  in  English,  but 
handled  here  with  wonderful  mastery.  Its  inter- 
woven rhymes  favoured  Shelley's  tendency  to  run 
on  from  one  image  to  another  until  his  original 
purpose  was  almost  lost  in  images.    "  The  Triumph 

295 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

of  Life  "  is  as  difficult  to  follow  as  those  modern 
symphonic  poems  in  which  the  themes  fade  into 
each  other  and  are  obscured  by  the  richness  of  the 
orchestration.  But  perhaps  Shelley  could  have 
lessened  this  obscurity  on  revision.  In  the  exist- 
ing state  of  the  poem  we  can  only  form  a  vague 
notion  of  its  theme,  and  we  cannot  tell  whether 
that  theme  would  have  proved  worthy  of  the 
splendid  execution.  The  poem  opens  with  a 
description  of  sunrise,  which  has  Miltonic  state- 
liness  and  many  Miltonic  phrases,  together  with 
all  the  lyrical  swiftness  and  high,  keen  music  of 
Shelley.  Then,  as  he  lies  on  the  steep  of  a  green 
Apennine,  a  vision  comes  to  him  of  the  Triumph 
of  Life. 

He  sees  a  stream  of  people — 

"  Numerous  as  gnats  upon  the  evening  gleam, 

All  hastening  onward,  yet  none  seemed  to  know 
Whither  he  went,  or  whence  he  came,  or  why 
He  made  one  of  the  multitude,  and  so 

Was  borne  amid  the  crowd,  as  through  the  sky 
One  of  the  million  leaves  of  summer's  bier  ; 
Old  age  and  youth,  manhood  and  infancy, 

Mixed  in  one  mighty  torrent  did  appear, 

Some  flying  from  the  thing  they  feared,  and  some 

Seeking  the  object  of  another's  fear." 

Then — 

"  A  cold  glare,  intenser  than  the  noon, 
But  icy  cold,  obscured  with  blinding  light 
The  sun,  as  he  the  stars." 

296 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

And  in  it  there  appeared  a  chariot  driven  by 
a  Janus-visaged  shadow,  with  all  his  four  faces 
blinded  by  a  bandage.  About  this  chariot  a 
captive  multitude  was  driven,  including  all  the 
great  and  wretched  of  the  earth — 

"  All  but  the  sacred  few  who  could  not  tame 
Their  spirits  to  the  conquerors — but  as  soon 
As  they  had  touched  the  world  with  living  flame, 

Fled  back  like  eagles  to  their  native  noon, 
Or  those  who  put  aside  the  diadem 
Of  earthly  thrones  or  gems.  .  .  . 

Were  there,  of  Athens  or  Jerusalem, 

Were  neither  'mid  the  mighty  captives  seen, 

Nor  'mid  the  ribald  crowd  that  followed  them." 

I  quote  this  fragmentary  and  obscure  passage, 
because  it  suggests  to  us  what  the  development 
of  the  poem  might  have  been.  Most  men,  Shelley 
implies,  are  the  slaves  of  life  and  subdued  to  its 
mechanical  purposes,  even  when  they  seem  to 
be  the  masters  of  the  world.  Only  a  few,  such 
as  Jesus  or  Socrates,  deliver  themselves  from 
that  slavery  and  make  a  purpose  and  desires 
for  themselves  and  according  to  their  own 
ideals. 

The  rest  of  the  vision  is  expounded  by  Rousseau, 
himself  one  of  the  captives.  He  points  out 
Napoleon — 

"  Whose  grasp  had  left  the  giant  world  so  weak, 
That  every  pigrr^  kicked  it  as  it  lay." 

297 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

And  other  "  spoilers  spoiled,"  Voltaire,  Frederick, 
Paul,  Catherine,  and  Leopold — 

"  For  in  the  battle  Life  and  they  did  wage, 
She  remained  conqueror.  I  was  overcome 
By  my  own  heart  alone,  which  neither  age, 

Nor  tears,  nor  infamy,  nor  now  the  tomb 
Could  temper  to  its  object." 

Then  he  compares  himself  with  the  great  bards 
of  elder  time — 

"  Who  quelled 

The  passions  which  they,  sung,  as  by  their  strain 
May  be  well  known  :    their  living  melody 
Tempers  its  own  contagion  to  the  vein 

Of  those  who  are  infected  with  it — I 
Have  suffered  what  I  wrote,  or  viler  pain  ! 
And  so  my  words  have  seeds  of  misery — 

Even  as  the  deeds  of  others,  not  as  theirs." 

Here  Shelley  proves  that  at  the  end  of  his  days 
he  was  learning  that  the  masterpieces  of  art 
express  mastered  passion. 

After  this  the  poem  loses  itself  more  and  more  in 
a  long  description  by  Rousseau  of  a  vision,  and 
of  how  he  came  to  join  in  the  Triumph  of  Life. 
Here  Shelley  seems  to  concern  himself,  as  often 
before,  rather  with  the  description  itself  than  with 
the  significance  of  what  is  described.  This  would 
be  well  enough  if  he  were  telling  us  of  real  things, 
interesting  in  themselves  ;    but  since  he  is  telling 

298 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

us  of  visions,  whose  interest  is  only  in  their 
relation  to  reality,  we  are  bewildered  when  we 
cannot  grasp  that  relation.  It  is  doubtful  whether 
Shelley  would  ever  have  enabled  us  to  grasp  it, 
whether  the  poem  would  have  fulfilled  the  promise 
which  Professor  Dowden  finds  in  it.  It  grows  no 
clearer  towards  the  end,  but  breaks  off  with  the 
words — 

"  Then,  what  is  life  ?    I  cried " 

There  were  warnings  and  portents  in  the  last 
weeks  of  Shelley's  life.  He  saw  the  figure  of  him- 
self which  met  him  as  he  walked  on  the  terrace, 
and  said  to  him,  "  How  long  do  you  mean  to  be 
content  ?  "  He  was  also  seen  by  Jane  Williams 
in  a  place  where  he  certainly  was  not.  On  the 
night  after  he  was  drowned  a  friend  dreamed  that 
he  came  to  her  looking  pale  and  melancholy. 
She  told  him  to  sit  down  and  eat.  "I  shall  never 
eat  more,"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  a  soldo  left  in 
the  world."  She  answered,  "This  is  no  inn. 
You  need  not  pay."  "Perhaps,"  he  said,  "it  is 
the  worse  for  that."  Then  she  awoke,  and  falling 
asleep  again,  dreamed  that  Shelley  was  dead,  and 
woke  crying  bitterly.  The  next  day  she  mentioned 
her  dream  and  said  she  hoped  all  was  well  with 
the  Shelleys.  On  June  19  news  came  that  the 
Hunts  had  reached  Genoa.  On  July  1  that  they 
had  set  out  for  Leghorn.  As  there  was  a  favouring 
breeze,  Shelley  determined  to  sail  to  Leghorn  to 
welcome    Hunt.     Williams   went    with    him,    and 

299 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

Mary,  still  weakened  by  her  miscarriage,  was  full 
of  apprehensions.  "  I  called  Shelley  back  two 
or  three  times,"  she  wrote  afterwards,  "  and  told 
him  that  if  I  did  not  see  him  soon,  I  would  go  to 
Pisa  with  the  child  ;  I  cried  bitterly  when  he  went 
away."  This  was  their  last  parting.  The  boat 
reached  Leghorn  that  evening,  and  they  spent 
the  night  sleeping  in  her.  The  next  day  Shelley 
and  Hunt  met  in  an  hotel  at  Leghorn.  Shelley 
rushed  into  Hunt's  arms  with  a  cry  of  delight. 
They  went  on  to  Pisa  together,  and  saw  the  sights 
of  the  town  on  July  7.  Every  one  noticed  that 
Shelley  was  in  better  health  and  spirits  than  ever 
before  ;  yet  he  said  to  Mrs.  Hunt,  "  If  I  die  to- 
morrow, I  have  lived  to  be  older  than  my  father. 
I  am  ninety  years  of  age."  The  day  before 
Jane  Williams  had  written  a  letter  to  him 
which  ended  with  these  words,  "Why  do  you 
talk  of  never  enjoying  moments  like  the  past. 
Are  you  going  to  join  your  friend  Plato,  or 
do  you  expect  I  shall  do  so  soon  ?  Buona 
notte." 

On  the  evening  of  July  7,  Shelley  said  good- 
bye to  the  Hunts  and  drove  to  Leghorn.  There 
had  been  a  long  spell  of  hot  and  dry  weather, 
and  the  priests  were  praying  for  rain.  On  the 
8th,  Captain  Roberts  feared  a  tempest,  and  advised 
Shelley  to  wait  till  the  next  day.  But  Williams 
was  eager  to  return,  and  the  wind  was  favourable. 
They  sailed  between  1  and  2  p.m.,  Trelawny,  who 
had  also  gone  to  Leghorn,  watching  them  through 

300 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

a  glass.  A  Genoese  sailor  said  to  him  that  they 
ought  to  have  started  early  in  the  morning,  and 
that  they  were  standing  too  much  in-shore.  The 
boat  was  soon  enveloped  in  a  sea  fog,  and  Tre- 
lawny  saw  no  more  of  her.  There  was  not  a 
breath  of  air,  and  the  heaviness  of  the  atmosphere 
made  Trelawny  sleepy.  He  went  down  into  the 
cabin  of  Byron's  boat,  in  which  he  had  come  to 
Leghorn,  and  fell  asleep.  He  was  roused  by  a 
noise  overhead,  and  went  on  deck.  It  was  then 
half -past  six.  "The  sea  was  of  the  colour,  and 
looked  as  solid  and  smooth,  as  a  sheet  of  lead, 
and  covered  with  an  oily  scum.  .  .  .  There  was 
a  commotion  in  the  air,  as  of  many  threatening 
sounds  coming  upon  us  from  the  sea.  Fishing- 
craft  and  coasting  vessels,  under  bare  poles, 
rushed  by  us  in  shoals,  running  foul  of  the  ships 
in  the  harbour."  Suddenly  a  thunder-squall 
burst  right  overhead.  It  only  lasted  twenty 
minutes,  and  then  Trelawny  looked  anxiously 
seaward  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Shelley's  boat,  but 
could  not  do  so. 

The  next  day  Trelawny's  Genoese  mate  pointed 
out  to  him,  on  board  a  fishing-boat,  an  English- 
made  oar  that  he  thought  he  had  seen  on  Shelley's 
boat.  But  the  crew  swore  it  was  not  so.  On 
the  morning  of  the  third  day  Trelawny  rode 
to  Pisa,  where  he  found  Byron.  He  hoped  there 
would  be  a  letter  from  the  Casa  Magni  announcing 
their  safe  arrival,  but  there  was  none.  He  told 
Byron  of  his  fears,  and  Byron's  lip  quivered  and 

301 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

his  voice  faltered  as  he  questioned  Trelawny. 
He  sent  a  courier  to  Leghorn  to  despatch  Byron's 
boat,  the  Bolivar,  to  cruise  along  the  bay,  and  rode 
himself  towards  it.  At  Via  Reggio  he  heard  that 
a  punt,  a  water-keg,  and  some  bottles  had  been 
found  on  the  beach.  He  recognized  them  as 
belonging  to  Shelley's  boat.  Nothing  more  was 
found  for  some  days. 

Meanwhile  Mary  and  Jane  were  waiting  for 
their  husbands  at  Casa  Magni.  The  night  of 
July  8,  on  which  the  boat  had  set  sail,  was 
tempestuous.  On  the  ioth  there  was  a  fair  wind 
from  Leghorn,  and  several  feluccas  arrived  thence 
in  the  evening.  Williams  had  written  that  they 
would  be  back  by  the  nth  at  latest,  and  when 
midnight  came,  and  Mary  and  Jane  did  not  see 
the  tall  sails  of  the  boat  double  the  promontory, 
they  began  to  fear  that  their  husbands  had  been 
kept  by  illness  or  bad  news.  Jane  was  so  uneasy 
that  she  resolved  to  go  the  next  day  to  Leghorn - 
by  boat,  but  it  was  too  rough.  At  noon  came  a 
letter  from  Hunt  to  Shelley  :  "  Pray  write  to  tell 
us  how  you  got  home,  for  they  say  you  had  bad 
weather  after  you  sailed  on  Monday,  and  we  are 
anxious."  Jane  cried,  "Then  it  is  all  over." 
"No,  my  dear  Jane,"  said  Mary,  "it  is  not  all 
over,  but  this  suspense  is  dreadful."  They 
determined  to  go  to  Leghorn,  and  crossed  to 
Lerici.  There  their  spirits  were  raised  by  hearing 
that  no  accident  was  known  of.  From  Lerici  they 
posted  to  Pisa.     In  Byron's  palace  the  Guiccioli 

302 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

came  to  meet  Mary,  smiling,  and  Mary  could 
scarcely  ask,  "Where  is  he — sapete  alcuna  cosa  di 
Shelley  ? "  They  knew  nothing  except  that  he 
had  sailed  on  Monday.  Though  it  was  twelve  at 
night  they  went  on  at  once  to  Leghorn,  and  got 
there  about  two  in  the  morning.  They  did  not 
know  where  Trelawny  and  Roberts  were,  but 
found  Roberts  at  six.  He  told  them  all  that  was 
known.  They  still  hoped  that  the  boat  might 
have  been  blown  out  to  sea.  They  sent  a  courier 
from  town  to  town  along  the  coast  to  know  if 
anything  had  been  seen  or  found,  and  at  9  a.m. 
left  Leghorn  with  Trelawny  for  home.  Near  Via 
Reggio  they  heard  of  the  boat  and  cask  that  had 
been  washed  ashore.  Still,  they  hoped  they  had 
been  thrown  overboard  because  of  the  bad 
weather.  When  they  got  home,  San  Terenzo 
was  illuminated  for  a  festa.  At  such  times  the 
natives  would  spend  the  whole  night  dancing  on 
the  sands  close  to  their  door,  "  running  into  the 
sea,  then  back  again,  and  screaming  all  the  time 
one  detestable  air,  the  most  detestable  in  the 
world."  It  was  July  13  when  they  got  home, 
five  days  since  the  boat  had  sailed.  On  the  18th 
Trelawny  left  them  to  go  to  Leghorn.  Towards 
evening  of  the  next  day  Mary  said  to  Jane,  "  If 
anything  had  been  found  on  the  coast,  Trelawny 
would  have  returned  to  let  us  know.  He  has  not 
returned,  so  I  hope."  But  about  seven  o'clock 
he  did  return.  The  bodies  had  been  found  on  the 
shore.     Shelley's  body  had  been  cast  up  on  the 

303 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

18th,  near  Via  Reggio,  Williams's  on  the  day 
before,  three  or  four  miles  off.  Trelawny  recog- 
nized Shelley  by  his  tall,  slight  figure,  his  jacket, 
and  a  volume  of  Sophocles  in  one  pocket,  a  volume 
of  Keats' s  Poems  in  the  other.  The  Keats  was 
doubled  back  as  if  it  had  been  hastily  thrust  away. 
Williams  was  also  identified  beyond  doubt.  The 
boy,  Charles  Vivian,  was  washed  up  three  weeks 
afterwards.  On  the  20th  Trelawny  took  Mary 
and  Jane  to  Pisa  to  the  Hunts.  Mary  wished 
Shelley  to  be  buried  near  his  child  in  the  cemetery 
at  Rome.  But  there  was  a  difficulty  because  of 
the  quarantine  laws.  So  it  was  determined  to 
burn  the  bodies.1  Trelawny  had  an  iron  furnace 
made  at  Leghorn,  and  laid  in  a  stock  of  fuel  and 
"  such  things  as  were  said  to  be  used  by  Shelley's 
much-loved  Hellenes  on  their  funeral  pyres." 
He  sailed  on  August  13  or  14  from  Leghorn  in 
Byron's  boat  to  Via  Reggio,  and  there  made 
arrangements  for  the  burning.  On  the  15th 
Byron  and  Hunt  arrived.  The  body  of  Williams 
was  burnt  that  day,  the  body  of  Shelley  on 
the  next.  "  The  lovely  and  grand  scenery  that 
surrounded  us,"  says  Trelawny,  "so  exactly 
harmonised  with  Shelley's  genius,  that  I  could 
imagine  his  spirit  soaring  over  us.  .  .  .  As  I 
thought  of  the  delight  Shelley  felt  in  such  scenes 
of  loveliness  and  grandeur  whilst  living,  I  felt  we 

1  Permission  was  obtained  to  remove  them  without 
burning,  and  they  had  therefore  some  difficulty  in  getting 
leave  to  burn  them. 

304 


THE   LAST   YEAR 

were  no  better  than  a  pack  of  wild  dogs  in  tearing 
out  his  battered  and  naked  body  from  the  pure 
yellow  sand  that  lay  so  lightly  over  it,  to  drag 
him  back  to  the  light  of  day."  While  the  body 
was  burning,  "more  wine  was  poured  over  it 
than  he  had  consumed  during  his  life.  This,  with 
the  oil  and  salt,  made  the  yellow  flames  glisten 
and  quiver.  The  heat  from  the  sun  and  fire  was 
so  intense  that  the  atmosphere  was  tremulous 
and  heavy."  Byron  could  not  face  the  scene, 
and  swam  off  to  his  boat.  The  heart  was  not 
burnt  and  Trelawny  snatched  it  from  the  furnace, 
burning  his  hand  severely.  He  collected  the  ashes 
of  his  friend,  and  took  them  on  board  the  Bolivar 
in  a  box. 

The  cemetery  where  Shelley's  son  William  was 
buried  had  been  closed,  so  his  ashes  were  buried 
in  a  coffin  in  the  new  cemetery  near  by.  Trelawny 
did  not  go  to  Rome  till  the  spring  of  the  next 
year.  "When  I  came  to  examine  the  ground," 
he  says,  "  I  found  Shelley's  grave  amid  a  cluster 
of  others.  The  old  Roman  wall  partly  enclosed 
the  place,  and  there  was  a  niche  in  the  wall  formed 
by  two  buttresses — immediately  under  an  ancient 
pyramid,  said  to  be  the  tomb  of  Caius  Cestius. 
There  were  no  graves  near  it  at  that  time.  This 
suited  my  taste,  so  I  purchased  the  recess,  and 
sufficient  space  for  planting  a  row  of  the  Italian 
upright  cypresses."  Two  tombs  were  built  in 
the  recess,  and  Trelawny  removed  Shelley's 
ashes  to  one  of  them.  It  was  covered  with 
20  305 


SHELLEY  :  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

a    solid    stone    on    which    this    inscription    was 
placed : — 

•  PERCY   BYSSHE   SHELLEY 

COR   CORDIUM 
NATUS    IV   AUG.    MDCCXCII 
OBIIT  VIII    JUL.    MDCCCXXII 

"  Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange.' 


306 


SHELLEY  S    GRAVE 
From  an  engraving  by  IV.  B.  Scott 


CONCLUSION 

IT  is  easy  to  believe  that  there  was  a  kind  of 
natural  fitness  in  the  manner  and  time  of 
Shelley's  death.  He  seems  to  prepare  us  for  it  in 
his  own  poetry,  speaking  of  himself  as  if  he  were 
a  strange  bird  soaring  through  a  few  years  of  time, 
and  cut  short  in  the  midst  of  its  flight  and  music 
to  sink  headlong 

"  On  the  heavy-sounding  plain 
When  the  bolt  has  pierced  its  brain." 

But  of  course  he  died  by  an  evil  chance  just  as 
much  as  any  city  clerk  killed  in  a  railway  accident. 
Providence  does  not  contrive  matters  like  a  nove- 
list, so  as  to  make  a  good  story.  There  is  perhaps 
a  lurking  notion  that,  being  a  great  poet  and  the 
most  extreme  of  all  poets,  Shelley  was  unfit  to 
live  in  this  gross  world,  and  that  he  was  withdrawn 
from  it,  like  Elijah,  as  a  compensation  for  the 
injustice  done  to  him  when  he  was  born  into  it. 
Those  who  are  inclined  to  be  angry  at  the  world's 
indifference  to  great  poets,  should  remember  that 
the  poets  owe  their  very  means  of  expression  to 
the  world.  The  language  in  which  Shelley  wrought 
his  miracles  was  not  invented  at  a  stroke  by  his 
genius,    but    had    grown    slowly    and    painfully 

307 


20* 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

through  the  efforts  of  countless  generations  to 
express  their  higher  and  lower  wants.  Without 
it  he  would  have  been  as  inarticulate  as  a  beast 
of  the  field. 

All  great  artists  owe  much  to  the  world,  and 
the  notion  that  they  do  not  could  only  have  arisen 
in  an  age  that  did  not  understand  the  nature  and 
function  of  art.  Shelley  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  born  in  such  an  age,  and  we  must  remember 
this  fact  when  we  consider  the  excellences  and 
faults  of  his  poetry.  It  is  true  that  his  time  was 
rich  in  poetry.  England  then  had  not  lost  its 
vigour,  as  it  proved  both  in  war  and  peace  ;  but 
the  whole  of  Europe  was  bewildered  by  a  great 
change  in  the  life  of  man,  which  had  many  causes 
and  had  long  been  coming,  but  which  only  began 
to  reach  the  height  of  its  violence  at  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Its  chief  cause  was  a 
great  increase  in  knowledge  of  all  kinds,  and  its 
chief  symptom  an  increase  as  vast  in  the  material 
power  of  mankind  through  mechanical  inventions. 
That  power  was  and  still  is  used  very  blindly  ;  and 
Shelley  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  anarch}/  of  ideas 
produced  by  its  blind  use,  and  by  other  results  of 
the  increase  of  knowledge.  Men  then  were  so  busy 
with  knowledge,  and  its  application  as  power, 
that  they  lost  a  great  part  of  the  wisdom  which 
had  been  almost  an  instinct  to  their  ancestors — 
the  wisdom  that  knows  which  are  the  best  things 
in  life  too  well  to  argue  about  them.  One  of 
these  is  art,  not  so  much  the  art  of  lonely  men  of 

308 


CONCLUSION 

genius,  but  the  art  produced  by  the  labour  and 
desire  of  a  whole  people.  That  kind  of  art, 
except  in  music,  had  been  dying  all  over  Europe 
for  some  time.  In  England  it  seemed  to  be  as 
nearly  dead  as  it  ever  can  be  until  men  become 
beasts  again.  But  neither  Shelley  nor  any  great 
poet  or  artist  of  his  time,  except  Blake,  had  any 
notion  of  what  the  world  had  lost  and  was  losing. 
Every  one  then,  like  most  people  now,  thought 
of  works  of  art  as  necessarily  produced  by  lonely 
men  of  genius  without  any  help  from  the  world 
and  without  any  effort  to  please  the  world.  Most 
of  the  romantic  poets  were  possessed  by  this 
idea,  and  their  poetry  was  the  most  individualist 
poetry  that  ever  was  written  by  great  poets. 
The  best  of  it  is  seldom  concerned  with  the 
relations  between  man  and  man.  Even  when 
Wordsworth  tried  to  deal  with  those  relations,  his 
finest  verses  express  the  secret  processes  of  a  single 
mind.  Very  early  in  life  he  gave  up  his  dream  of 
a  joy  in  widest  commonalty  spread,  and  pursued 
rather  the  joy  of  private  meditation  and  of  sudden 
chance  impressions.  Only  in  his  sonnets  did  he 
speak  as  the  poet  of  a  whole  people,  and  then  he 
was  mainly  concerned  with  the  great  struggle  in 
which  all  the  energies  and  imagination  of  England 
were  absorbed. 

Shelley  only  began  to  write  well  when  the 
struggle  was  over,  and  when  its  evil  effects  were  felt 
everywhere.  Unlike  Wordsworth  and  Coleridge  he 
had  no  horror  of  the  French  Revolution,  for  he 

309 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

had  never,  like  them,  experienced  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  Terror  and  that  outbreak  of  war 
between  England  and  France  which  seemed  to 
make  nonsense  of  the  loftier  hopes  of  man.  They 
suffered  a  nervous  shock  through  this  disappoint- 
ment from  which  Coleridge  never  recovered,  and 
which  made  Wordsworth  resolve  that  he  would 
never  again  give  his  heart  away  to  hope.  Shelley 
was  a  baby  in  arms  when  the  older  poets  suffered 
their  great  disappointment.  His  nurse  may  have 
tried  to  frighten  him  with  the  name  of  Bonaparte  ; 
but,  as  he  grew  up,  he  saw  only  the  evils  of  reaction 
against  revolution.  The  Revolution  itself  was 
for  him  a  false  dawn  that  gave  promise  of  a  true 
one ;  but  he  lived  among  a  people  to  whom  it 
seemed  a  kind  of  Black  Death,  from  which  they 
were  separated  only  by  the  Channel,  and  with 
which  a  few  miscreants  wished  to  infect  them. 
Thus,  when  he  dreamed  his  dreams  of  nations 
celebrating  the  millennium  with  festivals  that 
were  only  too  like  those  of  the  first  glorious 
days  of  the  Revolution,  he  knew  that  he  must 
seem  a  devil-worshipper  to  the  great  mass  of  his 
own  countrymen.  Their  imaginations  were  fired, 
if  at  all,  by  the  glories  of  the  Napoleonic  War, 
which  seemed  to  him  to  have  reduced  the  victors 
to  economic  slavery.  Thus  he  could  take  no 
patriotic  pride  in  England  as  she  was,  nor  could 
he  conceive  of  her  as  developing  by  any  natural 
or  constitutional  process  into  the  ideal  state  of  his 
dreams.     He  was  no  revolutionary  when  he  came 

310 


CONCLUSION 

to  consider  particular  measures,  since  he  was  by 
nature  averse  from  bloodshed  and  violence  ;    but 
in  those  dreams  to  which  he  gave  all  his  heart  and 
his  genius,  there  is  implied  a  revolution,  not  only 
in  the  nature  of  man,  but  in  the  whole  order  of  the 
universe.     Thus   there   was   a   gulf   between   his 
dreams  and  reality  that  he  could  only  traverse  by 
an  arbitrary  leap  of  his  imagination.     His  practical 
politics  were  only  the  result  of  his  sense  of  duty, 
and  he  cannot  himself  have  ever  supposed  that 
the  very  moderate  reforms  for  which  he  pleaded 
would  even  set  men  upon  the  road  to  that  millen- 
nium which  alone  would  satisfy  him.     Nothing 
in  things  as  they  were,  or  as  they  ever  had  been  in 
England,  had  any  power  to  fire  his  imagination. 
He    could   not,    like   William    Morris,    make    an 
Earthly  Paradise  out  of  the  best  of  what  he  knew 
of  the  Middle  Ages  ;   for  he  knew  next  to  nothing 
of  them,  and  what  he  did  know  he  despised.     Nor, 
like  Morris,  could  he  suppose  that  men  would  be 
happy  if  they  could  all  live  his  life  and  do  what  he 
did  ;   for  there  was  something  in  all  actual  condi- 
tions of  life,  indeed  in  all  possible  conditions  of  it, 
that  would  balk  him  of  the  delight  which  he  most 
desired.     That  was  a  delight  of  passion  without 
reaction,  of  appetite  freed  from  all  the  laws  of 
appetite,  and  at  the  same  time  of  a  soul  supreme 
over  the  body,  a  delight,  in  fact,  of  heaven  not 
of  earth. 

Thus  he  was  a  lonelier  poet  even  than  Words- 
worth when  he  sang  of  his  Paradise  and  of  his 

3" 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

grief  that  the  world  should  be  so  unlike  it ;  for 
he  could  not  even  persuade  men  that  it  was  desir- 
able, or  that  it  would  be  anything  but  an  inferno 
of  uncontrolled  demons.  And  so  his  genius  was 
more  and  more  driven  into  solitude,  and  forced 
to  sing  only  to  itself  of  things  which  only  itself 
had  conceived.  Perhaps  I  have,  in  this  book, 
said  too  much  of  the  evils  of  this  solitude.  There 
is  certainly  something  to  be  said  on  the  other 
side.  For  these  solitary  poets  are,  as  Ben  Jonson 
said  of  Donne,  the  finest  in  the  world  for  some 
things.  Their  very  loneliness  sets  them  thinking 
and  feeling  further  than  the  poets  who  ease  their 
minds  among  the  common  thoughts  and  feelings 
of  mankind,  so  that  they  produce  "  things  extreme 
and  scattering  bright,"  and  have  an  audacity 
unchecked  by  any  fear  lest  it  shall  frighten  away 
their  hearers.  At  his  best  Shelley  sings  like  an 
angel  for  an  audience  of  angels  ;  for,  however 
lonely,  he  is  never  an  egotist,  and  does  not  talk 
to  himself  about  himself.  He  would  hold  com- 
munion with  men  if  he  could,  and  always  desired 
to  love  them  and  be  loved  by  them.  And,  from 
his  lack  of  this  communion,  he  became  the  most 
intimate  friend  of  nature  that  ever  was  ;  often 
in  his  poetry  he  seems  to  sing  to  an  audience  of 
mountains  and  winds  and  clouds  as  if  they  would 
understand  him  better  than  the  human  beings 
who  received  his  music  with  rage  or  laughter. 
His  landscape  poetry  is  not  hampered  by  the 
effort  to  make  pictures  out  of  words ;    for  his 

312 


CONCLUSION 

imagination,  being  thoroughly  poetic,  is  con- 
cerned with  the  action  of  natural  forces,  not 
merely  with  their  appearances.  For  him  clouds 
and  the  sun  and  stars  are  as  much  alive  as  human 
beings  ;  and  often  his  human  beings  are  only 
little  figures  under  a  great  vault  of  sky,  whose 
voices  are  scarcely  heard  amid  the  music  of  the 
earth  and  air.  In  "  Prometheus  "  the  persons  of 
the  myth  are  so  like  natural  forces  and  the  natural 
forces  are  so  articulate,  that  we  can  scarcely 
distinguish  between  them.  In  "  Adonais '  the 
dead  body  of  the  poet  and  the  figures  of  his 
mourners  drift  away  like  clouds  upon  the  wind 
of  inspiration  that  fills  the  close  of  the  poem. 
And  the  reader,  too,  must  surrender  his  mind  to 
that  wind,  if  he  is  to  understand  or  enjoy  Shelley's 
poetry.  He  must  not  ask  what  is  the  use  of  it  all, 
or  why  it  gives  him  no  valuable  information  about 
the  character  of  men.  He  must  have  faith  in  it 
as  a  prophecy  of  a  nobler  state  of  being,  and  as 
the  expression  of  emotions  and  ideas  to  which 
men  in  that  nobler  state  may  some  day  attain. 
But  his  faith  must  be  reasonable  and  not  given 
to  that  mass  of  verse  which  Shelley  wrote  from  the 
mere  momentum  and  habit  of  composition.  The 
indiscriminating  admirers  of  a  man  of  genius  are 
his  worst  enemies,  for  their  open-mouthed  wonder 
soon  turns  to  indifference  and  begets  it.  If  we 
are  to  keep  our  love  of  poetry  into  middle  age  we 
must  fortify  it  with  a  scientific  interest ;  we  must 
know  that  the  work  even  of  the  greatest  poets  is 

313 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 

sometimes  good  and  sometimes  bad,  and  we  must 
try  to  discover  when  and  why  it  is  good  or 
bad.  The  blind  admirers  talk,  but  they  do 
not  read ;  they  live  on  the  memory  of  their 
youthful  raptures.  Shelley,  with  his  "  clamorous 
sublimities,"  is  so  much  the  poet  of  youth  that  he 
is  always  in  danger  of  being  neglected  by  middle 
age.  In  this  book  I  have  written  about  him  as 
a  middle-aged  man  for  other  middle-aged  men, 
and,  since  I  have  not  ceased  to  read  him  myself, 
I  hope  that  I  may  at  least  provoke  others  to 
renew  the  delight  of  their  youth  by  reading  him 
again. 


314 


INDEX 


Ability,  Commercial,  20 

Abuse    of    Shelley    in    "  Quarterly 

Review,"  146 
Activity   among   the  poor  at  Tre- 

madoc,  76 
Acquaintance  with  Keats,  144 
Acquaintance  with  Southey,  55 
Adams,  Mrs.,  61 

Address  to  Irish  Catholics,  60,  63,  64 
Adonais,  145,  151,  261,  262,  263,  266 
Aeschylus,  195,  196 
Affectionate  nature,  6 
Ahasuerus,  85,  270 
Alastor,  177,  229 
Alastor,  Preface  to,  117 
Alastor,  Reaction  expressed  in,  120 
Alfred,  Time  of,  236 
Allegra,  283 
Allegra,  Death  of,  287 
"  An  Accouchement,"  182 
Anapaestic  verses,  226  n. 
Anarchs  of  the  North,  238 
Anne  Radcliffe,  13 
"  Anniversaries  "  of  Donne,  245 
Antagonism  to  religion,  14 
Antiope,  235 

Anxiety  about  Chancery  suit,  149 
A    Philosophical    View    of   Reform 

(prose),  193 
Apollo,  204 

Apparent  religious  conversions,  10 
Archy,  the  Fool,  285 
Arethusa,  239 
Arnold,  Matthew,  256 
Art,  Taste  in,  21 
Ashes  of  Shelley,  305 
Asia,  200,  201,  203,  204,  205,  207 
Association,  Philanthropic,  68 
Athanase,  Prince,  10 
Atheist,  The,  8 
Attack  on  Shelley,  61 

Bacchus,  Michelangelo's,  183 

Bagehot  on  Shelley,  10 

Balfe,  278 

Ballad  of   Alonzo   the   Brave   and 

the  Fair  Imogene,  13 
Banquet  of  Plato,  1J3 
Bargello  at  Florena,  The,  182 


Barnstaple,  Mayor  of,  72 

Bath,  At,  97 

Beatrice,  219,  220,  221,  223,  224 

Beatrice  Cenci,  186 

Beddoes,  12 

Beethoven's  "  Pastoral  Symphony," 

134 
Beginning  to  write,  12 
Ben  Jonson,  275,  312 
"  Belle    Dame    sans    Merci "     by 

Keats,  120 
Berkeley,  55 
Bernard  Shaw,  195 
Bertram  Dobell,  Mr.,  44  n. 
Biondi,  244 

Birth  of  Charles  Bysshe,  109 
Birth  of  Ianthe,  83 
Birth  of  Shelley,  5 
Bishopsgate,  At,  115 
Blake,  309 
"  Blest  Pair  of  Syrens  "  by  Milton, 

272 
Boinville,  Mrs.,  80,  83,  91,  104,  105 
Boyhood,       Recollections     of      in 

poems,  10 
Bracknell,  At,  83 
Brain  fever  delusion,  Hogg  on,  10 
Brain  fever  in  boyhood,  9 
Breaking     of     relationship      with 

Harriet,  91 
Breaking     of     relationship      with 

Harriet  Grove,  24 
Bridal  Song,  275 
Browne,  27 

Burning  of  bodies,  304 
Byron,  128,  171,  173,  195,  263,  267, 

268,  269,  279,  280,  305 
Byron  and  Shelley,  129 
Byron  as  Count  Maddalo,  177 
Byron,  Seduction  of  Claire  by,  128 
Byron's  child  Allegra,  173 
Byron's  "  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"  131 
Bysshe  Shelley,  Death  of  Sir,  113 
Bysshe  Shelley,  poet's  grandfather, 


Captain  Pilford,  42,  43,  49,  51,  54 
Captain  Roberts,  282,  289,  300 
Caroline  heroic  poems,  178 


315 


SHELLEY:  THE  MAN  AND  THE  POET 


Castlereagh,  131 

Catherine  and  Leopold,  298 

Catholic  emancipation,  66 

Cenci,  Beatrice,  186 

Chancellor,  Lord,  142 

Chancery  suit,  Anxiety  about,  149 

Charles   Bysshe   Shelley,   Birth  of, 

109 
Charles  Clairmont,  115 
Charles  Grove,  48 
Charles  Shelley,  139 
Charles  Vivian,  290 
Charteris,  Mr.,  228 
Chemical  experiments,  18 
Chemistry,  Dangerous  experiments 

in,  9 
Chesnut  Cottage,  53 
Chesterfield,  45 
"  Childe  Harold,"  238 
Childhood,  5 

Childhood,  Escapades  of,  6 
Childhood,  Inventive  mind  in,  6 
Childhood,  Sentiment  in,  7 
Childhood,  Unnatural,  8 
Christabel,  170 
Churches  of  Middle  Ages,  Contempt 

for,  22 
Claire,  Daughter  born  to,  144 
Claire's  Diary,  240 
Claire,  Seduction  of  by  Byron,  128/ 
Clairmont,  Charles,  115 
Clairmont,  Jane,  104,  no 
Clairmont,  Jane,  Diary  of,  113 
Classical  lyric,  Origins  of,  272 
Claudio,  224 
Coleridge,   56,   133,   192,   227,   241, 

255,  309.  3io 

Coleridge,  John  Taylor,  228 

Coleridge,  Mrs.,  56 

Collins,  272 

Commencement  of  Queen  Mab,  84 

Commercial  ability,  20 

Conflict  of  mind  with  external 
things,  22 

Constitution  granted  to  Naples,  235 

Contempt  for  Churches  of  Middle 
Ages,  22 

Contempt  for  father,  4 

Copies  of  address  to  Irish,  Distri- 
bution of,  65 

Cordelia,  216 

Correggio,  218,  235,  259 

Correggio's  "  Young  Apostle,"  218 

Cotopaxi,  64  ». 

Count  Cenci,  219,  220,  221 

Countess  Guiccioli,  267 

Count  Maddalo,  Byron  as,  177 

Count  Viviani,  241 

Cousin  of  Shelley,  48 

Cowley,  Pindarics  of,  271 

Crashaw,  141,  180,  236,  245,  249, 
272 


Cressida,  222 
Cuckfield,  43,  51 
Cumberland  Pacquet,  61  «. 
Curran,  69 

Dacier's    translation    of    the    Dia- 
logues, 21 

DcBtnon  of  the  World,  86  n. 

Danae,  235 

Dangerous  experiments  in  chemis- 
try, 9 

Dan  Healey  arrested,  71 

Daughter  born  to  Claire,  144 

Daughter  born  to  Mary,  114,  152 

Death  of  Allegra,  287 

Death  of  baby  Claire,  174 

Death  of  Charles  Vivian,  304 

Death  of  Harriet,  137 

Death  of  Keats,  260 

Death  of  Shelley,  303 

Death  of  Shelley's  grandfather,  2 

Death  of  Sir  Bysshe  Shelley,  113 

Death  of  Williams,  304 

Death  of  William  Shelley,  184 

Declaration  of  Rights,  71 

Dedication  to  Revolt  of  Islam,  10 

Defence  of  Poetry  (prose),  251 

Definition  of  soul,  26 

Delight  in  "  sporting  his  oak,"  19 

Demogorgon,  85,  88,  201,  202,  203, 
207 

Description  of  Mary  Godwin,  101 

Description  of  Pompeii,  238 

Details    of    Shelley's   life    by   Tre- 
lawny,  280 

Dispute    about    literature,    Shelley 
and  Hogg,  16 

Distaste  for  Miss  Hitchener,  76 

Distribution  of  copies  of  address  to 
Irish,  65 

Dobell,  Mr.  Bertram,  44  n. 

Doctor  Greenlaw,  7 

Doctor  Lind,  9,  159,  167 

"  Don  Giovanni,"  by  Mozart,  190 

"  Don  Juan,"  195 

Donne,  245  n.,  312 

Donne,  "  Anniversaries  "  of,  245 

Dons  action  at  Oxford  in  expelling 
Shelley  and  Hogg,  29 

Dons  at  Oxford,  19 

Dowden,   Professor,    12,   61 «.,   95, 
99,  135,  151,  230  n.,  231,  299 

Dryden,  272 

Dublin,  At,  63,  79 

Duet  of  Earth  and  Moon,  206 

Early  authorship,  Godwin  on,  62 
Earth,  Spirit  of  the,  211 
Earth,  The,  204,  205,  207 
Ecstasy  of  early  married  life,  49 
Edinburgh,  Marriage  at,  49 
Edinburgh  Review,  152 


3l6 


INDEX 


Edward  John  Trelawny,  279 

Edward  Williams,  260,  275,  276  n. 

Effect  of  Plato,  12 

Eldon,  Lord,  142,  169 

Elegy  on  death  of  Keats,  261 

Elephantiasis  illusion,  81 

Elijah,  307 

Elise,  267,  268 

Elizabethan  poets,  178 

Elizabethan  rhetoric,  223 

Elizabethan  tragedy,  222 

Elizabeth  Hitchener,  43,  44,  45, 
46,  47,  51.  63.  74 

Elizabeth  Shelley,  24,  27,  42,  43 

Eliza's  presence,  Influence  of,  96 

Eliza  Westbrook,  40,  41,  46,  47,  51, 
52,  60,  62,  139,  142 

Eliza  Westbrook,  Personal  appear- 
ance of,  52 

Emancipation,  Catholic,  66 

Emilia  Viviani,  277 

Emily  Westbrook,  41 

"  Endymion,"  Keats',  145,  178,  261 

Epipsychidion,  244,  245 

"  Epithalamium,"  of  Spenser,  272 

Escapades  of  childhood,  6 

Essays,  Hume's,  20 

Eton,  8 

Examiner,  268 

Examiner  review  of  Alastor,  136 

"  Excursion  "  by  Wordsworth,  123, 

195 
"  Expediency,"  Shelley  and  Southey 

on,  56 
Expelled  from  Oxford,  29 
Expulsion  of  Hogg  from  Oxford,  31 
Extracts  from  letters  (see  Letters) 

Faerie  Queene,  164 

Fanny  Imlay,  Suicide  of,  135 

Father  of  Shelley,  1 

Father  of  Shelley,  Life  of,  3 

Fingal,  Lord,  69 

First  Enthusiasm  for  science,  8 

Flight  with  Mary  Godwin,  103 

Foggi,  Paolo,  179 

Fracas  at  Pisa,  226 

Fragmentary  drafts  of  preface  to 

Epipsychidion,  247 
France,  In,  104 
Francesco  Pacchiani,  241 
"  Frankenstein,"  Mary's,  134 
Frederick,  298 
French    Revolution,    57,    156,    212, 

309 
Friendships,  7,  9 
Friendship  with  Newtons,  80 
Funeral  Pyres,  304 
Furies,  200,  211 


Geneva,  At,  128 
George  IV,  56 


Gisborne,  John,  172 
Gisborne,  Mrs.,  172,  186,  227 
Gisbornes,  226 

Godwin,  97,  98,  109,  136,  142,  227 
Godwin  as  philosopher,  57 
Godwin's  fruitless  journey,  72 
Godwin,  Innuendo  against,  126 
Godwin,  Mary,  91,  97 
Godwin,  Meeting  with,  73 
Godwin,  Mrs.,  135       « 
Godwin  on  early  authorship,  62 
Godwin's  "  Political  Justice,"  56 
Godwin,  William,  57 
Grandfather  of  Shelley,  1 
Grandfather's  liking  for  poet,  2 
Grandfather's  marriages,  1 
Gray,  237,  271,  272 
Greenlaw,  Doctor,  7 
Grove,  Charles,  48 
Grove,  Harriet,  13 
Grove,   Harriet,   Breaking  of  rela- 
tionship with,  24 
Grove's,  Harriet,  marriage,  26 
Guiccioli,  Countess,  226,  267 
Guido  Reni,  182,  186 

Habit  of  sleeping  on  rug,  18 

Harriet,  60,  141,  230 

Harriet  and  suicide,  51 

Harriet  Grove,  13 

Harriet  Grove,  Breaking  of  rela- 
tionship with,  24 

Harriet  Grove,  In  love  with,  13 

Harriet  Grove's  marriage,  26 

Harriet,  Re-marriage  with,  83 

Harriet,  Second  child  born  to,  109 

Harriet's  ardour  for  Ireland,  62 

Harriet's  death,  137 

Harriet's  reading,  50 

Harriet's  resistance  of  Hogg,  52 

Harriet's  threat  of  legal  proceed- 
ings, no 

Harriet  Westbrook,  39,  41,  46,  47, 
48 

Harriet  Westbrook  and  suicide,  47 

Haydon  the  painter,  148 

Hazlitt,  145,  146 

Hazlitt's  description  of  Shelley,  146 

Hazlitt's  "  Paradox  and  Common- 
sense,"  146 

Hazlitt's  "  Table  Talk,"  146 

Headmaster  of  Sion  House,  7 

Healey  goes  to  prison,  71 

Hellen  Shelley,  5 

Hellas,  269,  270,  272 

Henry  the  lover  of  Ianthe,  86  n. 

Hercules,  204 

Hermaphroditus,  233 

Hermit  in  Revolt  of  Islam,  10 

Herodotus,  254 

Hitchener,  Elizabeth,  43,  44.  45,  46, 
47,  5i,  63,  74.  79,  99 


317 


SHELLEY:   THE   MAN   AND   THE   POET 


Hitchener,    Miss,    as    the    Brown 

Demon,  75 
Hitchener,  Miss,  as  the  Goddess  of 

Reason,  75 
Hitchener,  Miss,  Hogg  on,  74 
Hitchener,    Miss,    lives    with    the 

Shelleys,  71 
Hitchener,  Miss  (Portia),  63 
Hogg,  46,  172,  279,  280 
Hogg  as  a  Special  Pleader,  73 
Hogg  joins  Shelley  and  Harriet  at 

Edinburgh,  49 
Hogg  on  brain  fever  delusion,  10 
Hogg  on  Miss  Hitchener,  74 
Hogg's     attempted     seduction     of 

Harriet,  51 
Hogg's  description  of  Harriet,  49 
Hogg's  fruitless  journey  to  Dublin, 

79 
Hogg's  Life  of  Shelley,  15 
Hogg,  Thomas  Jefferson,  15,  98 
Home  Secretary,  72 
Homer,  195,  252 
Hookham,  98,  139 
Hookham,  the  publisher,  104,  137 
Hoppner,  Mr.,  268 
Hoppner,  Mrs.,  173,  267,  268 
Hoppners,  267 
Hours,  The,  202 
Hours,  The  Car  of  the,  203 
House  of  Commons,  Visit  to,  27 
Hymn  of  Apollo,  239 
Hymn  of  Pan,  239,  240 
Hymn  to  Intellectual  Beauty,  11,  12, 

133 
Hyperion,"  by  Keats,  145,  261 
Hunt,  Leigh,  28,  136,  138,  140,  150, 

245  n.,  263,  268,  269,  283,  299, 

300 
Hunt,  Leigh,  Offer  of  help  to,  77 
Hunt,  Leigh,  Sentence  on,  77 
Hunt,  Mrs.,  268,  300 
Hunt's  libel  on  Prince  Regent,  77 
Hunt,  Thornton,  149 
Hume,  Doctor,  143 
Hume,  Doctrines  of,  28 
Hume's  Essays,  20 

Iago,  258 
Iambics,  226  n. 
Ianthe,  139 
Ianthe,  Birth  of,  83 
Ianthe  in  Queen  Mab,  86 
Ianthe,  Lover  of,  86  n. 
Ideas  of  evil  and  good  in  Prome- 
theus, 85 
77  Penseroso,  286 
Imitation  of  Moore,  190 
Imlay,  Suicide  of  Fanny,  135 
Indian  Serenade,  190 
Influence  of  Eliza's  presence,  96 
Injunction  against  Shelley,  142 


In  love  with  Harriet  Grove,  13 

Innuendo  against  Godwin,  126 

Inscription  on  Shelley's  grave,  306 

Inventive  mind  in  childhood,  6 

Io,  235 

lone,  201,  204,  205,  207 

Ireland,  62 

Ireland,  Regeneration  of,  66 

Irish  Catholics,  Address  to,  6o,  63, 

64 
Irregular  rhymeless  verse,  89 
Isaiah,  273 
Iseult,  Tristram  and,  235 

Jacobean  poets,  178 

Jane  Clairmont,  104,  no 

Jane  Clairmont's  Diary,  113 

Jane  Williams,  260,  275,  277,  285, 

288,  291,  292,  300 
Jefferson  Hogg,  98 
Jeremiah  Stukeley,  29 
Jesus  Christ,  Moral  sayings  of,  66 
John  Hamilton  Reynolds,  136 
John  Westbrook,  39,  142 
Jonson,  Ben,  275,  312 
Jove,  202 

Julian  and  Maddalo,  176,  177 
Julian,  Shelley  as,  177 
Jupiter,  88,  196,  198,  199,  200,  203, 

204,  211,  213,  217,  219,  221 
Jupiter  superseded  by  Demogorgon, 

85 

Keats,  119,  120,  136,  144,  176,  262 
Keats,  Death  of,  260 
Keats,  Elegy  on  death  of,  261 
Keats'  "  Endymion,"  145,  261 
Keats'  "  Hyperion,"  145,  261 
Keats'  "  Lamia,"  145 
Keats'  "  Odes,"  145 
Keswick,  At,  52 

Knowledge  of  Shelley  due  to  Hogg 
and  Trelawny,  16 

"  L' Allegro,"  286 

"  Lamia,"  by  Keats,  145 

Laon  and  Cythna  changed  to  The 

Revolt  of  Islam,  167 
Laon  and  Cythna  in  The  Revolt  of 

Islam,  158 
Latin  Studies,  7 
Lear,  216 

Legacy  under  Sir  Bysshe's  will,  114 
Legal    proceedings    threatened    by 

Harriet,  no 
Legends  of  Sir  Bysshe,  2 
Leghorn,  At,  226 
Leigh  Hunt,  28,  136,  138,  140,  150, 

245  n.,  263,  268,  269,  283,  299, 

300 
Leigh  Hunt,  Sentence  on,  77 
Leopold,  Catherine  and,  298 


318 


INDEX 


Letters,   Extracts  from  and  refer- 
ences to — 
Godwin  to  Shelley,  58,  59,  67,  69 
Harriet  to  — ,  40 
Harriet  to  Hookham,  100 
Harriet  to  Miss  Hitchener,  61,  62, 

65 
Hitchener,  Miss,  to  Harriet,  63 
Hookham  to  Shelley,  137 
Hunt,  Mrs.,  to  Mary,  268 
Keats  to  Shelley,  145 
Leigh  Hunt  to  Shelley,  302 
Mary  to  — ,  114,  283 
Mary  to  Mrs.  Hoppner,  267 
Mary  to  Shelley,  152 
Mayor   of    Barnstaple    to    Home 

Secretary,  yz 
Rose,  Miss,  to  Lady  Shelley,  151 
Shelley  to  — ,  41,  42,  56,  185 
Shelley  to  Byron,  226 
Shelley  to  Claire,  142,  292 
Shelley  to  Eliza  Westbrook,  139 
Shelley   to   Godwin,    58,   59,   65, 

68,69 
Shelley  to  Harriet,  106 
Shelley's  letter  to  his  father,  36, 

54 
Shelley's  letter  to  Hogg,  23,  43, 

46,  48,  75,  77 
Shelley  to  Mary,   in,   138,   153, 

174 
Shelley  to  Medwin,  274 
Shelley  to  Miss  Hitchener,  45,  48, 

51,  53,  60,  61,  62,  63,  65,  69,  70 
Shelley  to  Mr.  Gisborne,  293 
Shelley  to  Oilier,  228 
Shelley  to  Peacock,  131,  145,  190, 

220 
Shelley  to  Southey,  229,  230  - 
Shelley  to  Trelawny,  291 
Southey  to  Shelley,  229,  231 
Teresa  Emilia  Viviani  to  — ,  242 
Teresa  Emilia  Viviani  to  Mary, 

243 
Timothy  Shelley  to  Hogg,  35 
Timothy  Shelley  to  Shelley,  54 

Letter  to  Maria  Gisborne,  227 

Lewis,  Monk,  13 

Life  of  Life,  215 

Life  of  Shelley,  Hogg's,  15 

Life  of  Shelley's  father,  3 

Lind,  Doctor,  9,  159,  167 

Lines  on  Lechlade  Churchyard,  116 

Lines  written  among  the  Euganean 
Hills,  154,  175 

Living  with  Mary  Godwin,  100 

Livy,  254 

Locke's     Essay     on     the     Human 
Understanding,  20 

Lodgings  in  London,  34 

Longdill,  138,  139 

Lord  Chancellor,  142,  143 


Lord  Eldon,  142,  169 

Lord  Fingal,  69 

Lord  Sidmouth,  72 

Loss  of  clothes  when  bathing,  294 

Lucrezia  Tornabuoni,  183 

Lycidas,  261 

Lynmouth,  At,  71,  84 

Macaulay,  213 

Madame  Meek,  44,  48 

Madock,  Mr.,  72 

Madocks,  153 

Mad  Shelley,  8 

Margaret  Shelley,  6 

Marlow,  At,  150 

Marriage,  First,  49 

Marriage  to  Mary,  141 

Mary,  Daughter  born  to,  114,  152 

Mary  Godwin,  91,  97 

Mary  Godwin,  Description  of,  101 

Mary,  Marriage  to,  141 

Mary,  Miscarriage  of,  293 

Mary's  "  Frankenstein,"  134 

Mary  Shelley,  9,  190 

Mary's  Journal,  109,  no,  in,  114 

Mary,  Son  born  to,  116,  185 

Mary  Wollstonecraft,  73 

Master  in   Chancery   in   matter   of 

Shelley's  children,  143 
Masque  of  Anarchy,  191 
Matthew  Arnold,  256 
Mayor  of  Barnstaple,  72 
Mazenghi,  180,  181 
"  Measure  for  Measure,"  224 
Meek,  Madame,  44,  48 
Medwin,   1,   7,   152,  226,  241,   260, 

274,  279 
Meeting  of  Godwin  and  Shelley,  73 
Meeting  of  Shelley  and  Hogg,  16 
Meeting  with  Hazlitt,  145 
Mercury,  200 
Mercutio,  87 

Metaphysical  qualities,  133 
Mexican  Republic,  64 
Michelangelo,  182 
Michelangelo's  Bacchus,  183 
Milton,  122,  123,  156,  199,  213,  261, 

272 
Miltonic  passage  in  Alastor,  122 
Miltonic  phrases  in  The  Triumph  of 

Life,  296 
Miscarriage  of  Mary,  293 
Monk  Lewis,  13 
Mont  Blanc,  132 
Moon   makes  myth  about  herself, 

217 
Moore,  263 

Moore,  Imitation  of,  190 
Moral  sayings  of  Jesus  Christ,  66 
Morris,  William,  133,  216,  225,  311 
Mother  of  Shelley,  4 
Motto  of  Queen  Mab,  85 


319 


SHELLEY:   THE   MAN   AND   THE   POET 


Mozart,  217,  218 

Mozart's  "  Don  Giovanni,"  190 

Myth-making  power  of  Shelley,  214 

Name  to  bond,  28 

Naples,  Constitution  granted  to,  235 

Napoleon,  297 

Natural  fitness  of  Shelley's  death, 

307 
Nature,  Affectionate,  6 
Nerves,  Attack  of,  79 
Nerve  troubles,  12 
Newtons,  Friendship  with,  80 
Norfolk,  Duke  of,  27 
Notes  to  Queen  Mab,  89 

Ocean,  204,  213 

Oceanides,  201,  216 

Ocean,  The,  207 

Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,   Pope's, 

"  Odes,"  by  Keats,  145 

Ode  to  Liberty,  235,  237,  239,  273 

Ode  to  Naples,  235,  238 

Ode  to  the  West  Wind,  187 

Oedipus,  220 

Oedipus  Tyrannus,  220 

Offer  of  help  to  Leigh  Hunt,  77 

Oilier  the  publisher,  167,  186,  228 

Opinion  of  Dons,  19 

Opposition    to    Universal    Suffrage, 

193 
Origins  of  classical  lyric,  272 
Origins  of  English  lyrics,  271 
Out  of  conceit  with  Irish,  66 
Outrage  at  Tremadoc,  78 
Oxford,  15 

Oxford,  Expulsion  from,  29 
Oxford,  Quality  of  teaching  at,  18 

Pacchiani,  Francesco,  241 

Pacquet,  61  n. 

Paine,  Tom,  64 

"  Paley's  Natural  Theology,"  37 

Palsied  beldame,  Superstition,  66 

Panthea,   200,   201,   203,   204,   205, 

207 
Pantheism  of  Shelley,  265 
Pantheistic  stage  of  philosophy,  55 
Paolo  Foggi  seduces  the  nurse  Elise, 

179 
Paradise  Lost,  197,  207 
Paradise,  Shelley's,  277 
"  Paradox  and  Commonsense,"  by 

Hazlitt,  146 
Parting  with  Miss  Hitchener,  74 
Passage  on  Time,  63 
Passion  for  perfection,  12 
Passions  of  his  life,  12 
Patmore,  P.  G.,  151 
Paul,  298 


Paying  for  past  follies,  113 

Peacock,  98,  99,  102,  113,  115,  127, 
131.  137,  140,  151,  226,  251,  252 

Peacock    on    Harriet    nursing    her 
child,  95 

Peacock,  Thomas  Love,  82 

"  Persae  "  of  /Eschylus,  269 

Personal  appearance  of  Eliza  West- 
brook,  52 

Personal  appearance  of  Shelley  at 
Oxford,  16 

Peter  Bell  the  Third,  191 

Phaedo,  21 

Philanthropic  Association,  68 

Philosopher,  Godwin  as,  57 

Philosophical  abstractions,  25 

Pilfold,  Captain,  42,  43,  49,  51,  54 

Pilfold,  Mrs.,  70 

Pindar,  237 

Pindarics  of  Cowley,  271 

Pisa,  At,  225 

Plan  for  proselytizing  young  men 
at  Dublin  College,  66 

Plato,  254,  300 

Plato,  Effect  of,  12 

Platonist,  Becomes  a,  12 

Plutarch,  254 

Poe,  12 

Poems,  Excerpts  from — 
A  cold  glare,  intenser  than  the 

noon,  296 
All  but  the  sacred  few,  297 
All  overgrown  with  trailing,  216 
A  loftier  Argo,  273 
A  mighty  darkness,  201 
And  all  is  in  its  ancient  state,  175 
And  all  seemed  like,  159 
And  as  to  friend  or  mistress,  247 
And  ever  as  she  went,  233 
And  in  its  liquid  texture,  146 
And  the  marsh-meteors,  181 
And  timid  lovers,  234 
And  with  her  it  made,  205 
Art  and  eloquence,  121 
A  sensitive  plant  in  a  garden,  225 
As  much  skill  as  need  to  pray,  177 
A  vision  on  his  sleep,  118 
Away  !  the  moor  is  dark,  93 
A  wind  arose  among  the  pines, 

201 
Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  Paradise, 

250 
Broad  water-lilies  lay,  226 
But  from  the  first,  192 
But  it  was  found  too  feeble,  233 
But  let  me  think  not,  169 
By  that  last  book,  193 
By  thy  complicity,  r43 
Can  scarce  uplift,  152 
Celestial  coursers,  86 
Child  of  light,  215 
Cotopaxi,  let  the  sound,  64 


320 


INDEX 


Poems,  Excerpts  from  (continued) — 
Eternity.  Demand  no  direr  name, 

204 
Forget  the  dead,  the  past  ?  140 
For  in  the  battle  Life,  298 
For  in  vain  from  the  grasp,  42 
For  was  he  not,  224 
Friend,   thy   bands    were  losing, 

161 
From  what  Hyrcanian  glen,  237 
Green  stalks  burst  forth,  217 
Heartless  things,  123 
Hear  ye  the  march,  238 
He  has  outsoared,  264 
He  walked  along  the   pathway, 

*33 
He  who  would  question  him,  270 
His  head  was  bound,  151 
How  do  I  feel  my  happiness,  70 
How  Heaven  neglected  is,  171 
How,  my  dear]Mary,  232 
I  am  the  daughter,  239 
I  am  the  shadow  of  a  destiny,  202 
I  do  not  feel  as  if,  222 
I  do  remember  well,  10 
If  I  were  one  whom,  246 
If  the  abysm,  202 
I  never  was  attached,  246 
In  the  clear  golden  prime,  248 
I  sate  beside  the  steersman,  166 
I  scarce  endure,  203 
Kings  are  like  stars,  270 
Lamp  of  earth,  216 
Like  gentle  rains,  192 
Like  passion's  fruit,  88 
Lost  Echo  sits  amid,  263 
Man  who  wert  once,  206 
Midst  others  of  less  note,  263 
Mind  from  its  object,  245 
Most  wretched  men,  178 
Motionless  resting  on  the  lake,  163 
Mourn  not  for  Adonais,  264 
My  blood  is  running,  222 
My  brethren,  we  are  free,  160 
My  dearest  Mary,  185 
My  soul,  which  is  a  scourge,  222 
Naples,  thou  Heart  of  men,  238 
Night-folded  flowers,  204 
Numerous  as  gnats,  296 
O'er  a  lake,  211 
Oh,  ask  not  me,  232 
Oh  cease !  must  hate,  273 
Oh  !   gentle  Moon,  217 
Oh,  ho  !  you  talk  as  in,  178 
Oh,  weep  for  Adonais,  262 
Oh,  what  a  might,  165 
On  a  poet's  lips  I  slept,  212 
On  the  heavy-sounding  plain,  307 
On  the  sigh  of  one,  212 
On  the  waved  and  golden  sand, 

163 
One  word  is  too  often,  278 


Poems,  Excerpts  from  (continued) — 
Other  flowering  isles  must  be,  175 
O  world !  O  life  !  274 
Pageantry  of  mist,  263 
Reason  was  free,  89 
Rose,  robed  in  dazzling,  265 
Sate  on  many  a  sapphire  throne, 

158 
She  looked  around  in  wonder,  89 
She  would  often  climb,  233 
Soul  of  Ianthe,  thou,  87 
Sudden  she  rose,  119 
Swift  as  the  radiant  shapes,  272 
That  time  is  dead  for  ever,  140 
The  breath  who  might,  266 
The  day  is  come,  249 
The  everlasting  universe,  132 
The  folded  roses,  180 
The  golden  gates  of  sleep,  275 
The  loud  deep  calls  me  home,  213 
The  moon  made  thy  lips  pale,  140 
The  One  remains,  266 
The  pale  stars  are  gone,  214 
The  priests  would  write,  234 
The  seed  ye  sow,  191 
The  solemn  harmony,  236 
The  sun-awakened  avalanche,  214 
The  Victor  Fiend,  157 
Thou  art  immortal,  205 
Thou  must  a  listener  be,  158 
Thou  on  whose  stream,  188 
Those  subtle  and  fair  Spirits,  212 
Thou,  too,  aerial  Pile,  116 
Thou  who  didst  waken,  190 
Thy  dewy  looks,  92 
Thy  look  of  love  has  power,  94 
To  see  a  babe,  88 
To  suffer  woes,  218 
To  those  she  saw  most  beautiful, 

233 
True  love  in  this,  245 
Turn  up  my  faults,  224 
Was  it  one  moment,  161 
We  will  sit  and  talk,  216 
What  then  was  I  ?  166 
When  I  return  to  my  cold  home, 

276 
When  the  night  is  left  behind, 

286 
Where  art  thou,  184 
Where  the  secret  caves,  122 
Where,  though  with  rudest  rites, 

162 
While  far  Orion,  165 
While  yet  a  boy,  1 1 
Who  have  homes,  206 
Who  mourns  for  Adonais,  265 
Who  quelled  the  passions,  298 
Whose  grasp  had  left,  297 
Who  waits  but  till  the  destined 

hour,  203 
Would  let  them  take  no  ill,  235 


321 


SHELLEY:    THE   MAN   AND   THE   POET 


Poems,  Excerpts  from  (continued) — 
Would  write  strange  dreams,  234 
Yet  now  despair  itself,  180 
You  will  see  Coleridge,  227 
You    will    see    that    which    was 
Godwin,  227 

Poland  Street,  33 

Political  Justice,  67 

"  Political  Justice,"  Godwin's,   56, 
58 

Pompeii,  Description  of,  238 

Pope,  228,  272 

Pope's  "  Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day," 
42 

Pope,  The,  220 

Portents  in  last  week  of  life,  299 

Portia  (Miss  Hitchener),  63 

Posthumous  Poems,  154 

Preface  for  A  lastor,  117 

Prejudice  against  marriage,  43 

"  Prelude  "  by  Wordsworth,  123, 195 

Prince  Athanase,  10,  154,  167 

Prince  Regent,  Hunt's  libel  on,  77 

"  Prisoner  of  Chillon,"   by  Byron, 

131 
Professor  Dowden,  12,  61  n.,  95,  99, 

135,  151,  231,  299 
Progress  of  Queen  Mab,  jy 
Prometheus,    200,    202,    204,    205, 

206,  207,  219,  221 
"  Prometheus  Bound,"  by  jEschy- 

lus,  196 
Prometheus,  Ideas  of  good  and  evil 

in,  85 
Prometheus  Unbound,  85,  170,  193, 

194,   208,   213,  218,  221,  223, 

239,  263,  273,  313 
Prometheus      Unbound     and     The 

Cenci,  Unlikeness  of,  219 
"  Prometheus   Unbound,"   by  Als- 

chylus,  196 
Proposed  entail  of  estate,  54 
Proposed  separation  from  Harriet, 

102 
Proposes  marriage,  48 
Prose  fragment  on  Love,  123 
Public  opinion,  State  of,  31 
Publishes    tract,    "  The    Necessity 

of  Atheism,"  29 
Purpose  of  The  Revolt  of  Islam,  154 

Quality  of  teaching  at  Oxford,  18 
Quarterly  Review,  226,  228,  261 
Quarterly  Review,  Abuse  of  Shelley 

in,  146 
Queen  Caroline,  240 
Queen  Mab,  71,  86,  186,  196 
Queen  Mab,  Commencement  of,  84 
Queen  Mab,  Motto  of,  85 
Queen  Mab,  Progress  of,  77 
Queen  Mab,  Story  embodied  in,  87 
Queen  Mab,  Topics  of,  85 


Radcliffe,  Anne,  13 

Radcliffe,  Writings  of  Anne,  7 

Raphael,  261 

Reaction  expressed  in  Alastor,  120 

Recites    Homer    to   bring   luck   in 

boyhood  fight,  8 
Recollections  of  boyhood  in  poems, 

10 
Recollections,  Trelawny's,  15 
References  to  letters  (see  Letters) 
Reforming  the  world,  12 
Regeneration  of  Ireland,  66 
Religion,  Antagonism  to,  14 
Religious  conversions,  Apparent,  10 
Reni,  Guido,  182,  186 
Re-marriage  with  Harriet,  83 
Rembrandt,  257 
Review  of  Alastor,  136 
Revolt  against  opinions  on  sexual 

matters,  166 
Revolt  of  Islam,  10 
Revolution,  French,  57,  309 
Reynolds,  John  Hamilton,  136 
Rhayader,  At,  69 
Roberts,  Captain,  282,  289,  300 
Romantic  Movement,  194 
Romantic  Revolution  in  poetry,  86 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  235 
Rosalind  and  Helen,  154,  168,  170, 

173 
Rosa,  Salvator,  182 
Rossini,  190 
Rousseau,  297,  298 

Salvator,  Rosa,  182 

Scandal    about    Shelley    and    Miss 

Hitchener,  70 
Science,  First  enthusiasm  for,  8 
Scott,  191,  195 

Second  child  born  to  Harriet,  109 
Seduction  of  Claire  by  Byron,  128 
Seduction  of  nurse  Elise  by  Paolo 

Foggi,  179 
Sensitive  Plant,  225 
Sentence  on  Leigh  Hunt,  77 
Sentiment  in  childhood,  7 
Shakespeare,    122,    156,    195,    223, 

252,  257,  259 
Shakespearean  passage  in  Alastor, 

123 
Shaw,  Bernard,  195 
Shelley  and  Hogg,  Dispute  about 

literature,  16 
Shelley  and  Hogg,  Meeting  of,  16 
Shelley  and  sick  woman,  150 
Shelley  and  the  fair  sex,  82 
Shelley  as  Julian,  177 
Shelley,  Attack  on,  61 
Shelley,  Bagehot  on,  10 
Shelley,  Charles,  139 
Shelley,  Charles  Bysshe,  100 
Shelley,  Elizabeth,  24,  27,  42,  43 


322 


INDEX 


Shelley,  Hellen,  5 

Shelley,  Margaret,  6 

Shelley,  Mary,  9 

Shelley  on  "  Expediency,"  56 

Shelley  on  love  for  his  father,  59 

Shelley's    admiration    for    Words- 
worth's poetry,  192 

Shelley's  birth,  5 

Shelley's  "  broken  chariot  wheels," 
228 

Shelley's  conception  of  beauty  in 
nature,  188 

Shelley's  contempt  for  his  father,  4 

Shelley's  cousin,  48 

Shelley's  death,  303 

Shelley's   father  attempts  to   part 
him  from  Hogg,  35 

Shelley's  first  marriage,  49 

Shelley's  grave,  Inscription  on,  306 

Shelley    shocked    at    Byron's    pro- 
fligacy, 176 

Shelley,  sister  of,  5,  6 

Shelley's  Journal,  112,  113 

Shelley's  Jupiter,  199 

Shelley's  mother,  4 

Shelley's  nickname,  282  n. 

Shelley's  opinion  of  grandfather,  2 

Shelley's  Paradise,  277 

Shelley's  rhetoric,  223 

Shelley's  views  on  Wordsworth,  130 

Shelley's  warning  of  Irish  against 
priestcraft,  65 

Shelley,  Timothy,  1,  3,  34,  49 

Shelley,  William,  139 

Sidmouth,  Lord,  72 

Sidney's  "  Apology  for  Poetry,"  253 

Sion  House  Academy,  7 

Sir  Bysshe,  Legends  of,  2 

Sisters  of  Shelley,  5,  6 

Slatter  and  Munday's  sale  of  tracts, 
29 

Slatter  the  bookseller,  15 

Sleeping  on  rug,  Habit  of,  18 

Snake  at  Field  Place,  5 

Socrates,  297 

Son  born  to  Mary,  116,  185 

Son  born  to  Harriet,  109 

Song  of  Proserpine,  239 

Song  to  the  Men  of  England,  191 

Soul,  Definition  of,  26 

Southey,  55,  228,  229, 230 

Southey  on  "  Expediency,"  56' 

Spanish  Rebellion,  235 

Spenserian  stanzas  of  The  Revolt  of 
Islam,  156 

Spenser's  "  Epithalamium,"  272 

Spirit  of  the  Earth,  205 

Spirits,  Chorus  of,  217 

Stanzas  written  in  dejection  near 
Naples,  179 

State  of  public  opinion,  31 
St.  Irvyne,  58 


Stockdale  the  publisher,  23 
Story  embodied  in  Queen  Mab,  87 
Story  of  Mazenghi,  181 
Story  of  Prometheus  Unbound,  200 
Story  of  Rosalind  and  Helen,  168 
Story  of  The  Revolt  of  Islam,  157 
Story  of  Witch  of  Atlas,  232 
St.  Theresa,  249 
Studies,  Latin,  7 
Study  of  art,  182 
Stukeley,  Jeremiah,  29 
Swellfoot  the  Tyrant,  240 
Swinburne,  180,  225 
Switzerland,  In,  105 

"  Table  Talk,"  by  Hazlitt,  146 

Tanyrallt,  72 

Taste  in  art,  21 

Tchaikovsky,  44,  48 

Temperament  of  Shelley's  family,  3 

Tendency  of  poetic  drama  to  become 

lyrical,  208 
Teresa  Emilia  Viviani,  241,  244 
The  Cenci,  145,  186,  193,  220,  222, 

224 
The  Cenci  the  finest  English  tragedy 

of  modern  times,  222 
The  Cloud,  125,  239,  240 
The  Curse  of  Kehama,  231 
"The   Four  Ages  of   Poetry,"    by 

Peacock,  251 
The  Invitation,  285,  286 
"  The  Necessity  of  Atheism,"  28 
The  Past,  140 
The  Question,  239 
The  Recollection,  285 
The  Revolt  of  Islam,  154,  164,  196, 

226 
The  Skylark,  239 
The  Sunset,  133 
The  Tempest,  240 
Thetis,  203 

The  Triumph  of  Life,  295 
The  Woodman  and  the  Nightingale, 

180 
Thomas  Jefferson  Hogg,  15 
Thomas  Medwin,  7 
Thornton  Hunt,  149 
Timothy  Shelley,  poet's  father,   1, 

3.  34,  49 
Tom  Paine,  64 
Topics  of  Queen  Mab,  85 
Tornabuoni  relief,  182 
Toryism  of  Wordsworth  and  Scott, 

Tragedy  on  Charles  I  begun,  285 
Trelawny,  46,  280,  287,  300,  301 
Trelawny,  Edward  John,  279 
Trelawny's  Recollections,  15 
Tremadoc,  At,  72,  76 
Tremadoc,  Outrage  at,  78 
Tristram  and  Iseult,  235 


323 


SHELLEY:   THE   MAN   AND   THE   POET 


Troilus,  222 
Turner,  Mrs.,  83 
Two  Spirits,  239 

University  College,  Oxford,  15 
Unlikeness  of  Prometheus  Unbound 

and  The  Cenci,  219 
Unnatural  childhood,  8 
Untruths  in  Shelley's  letters,  58 
Urania,  261,  263 

Vacca,  225 

Vague    scheme    for    reduction    of 

National  Debt,  193 
Vegetarianism,  69,  131 
Venus,  232 
Verrocchio,  183 

Verses  written  at  Rhayader,  70 
Virgil,  273 

Visit  to  Cuckfield,  43 
Visit  to  House  of  Commons,  27 
Visit  to  Hunt,  137 
Vittoria  Corombona,  223 
Vivian,  Charles,  290 
Vivian,  Charles,  Death  of,  304 
Viviani,  Count,  241 
Viviani,   Teresa   Emilia,   241,   244, 

277 
Voltaire,  22,  298 
Vulcan,  232 

Walt  Whitman,  274 

Wandering  Jew,  88 

Waning  enthusiasm  for  Miss  Hitch- 
ener,  74 

Warne,  Miss,  53 

Warning  of  Irish  against  priest- 
craft, Shelley's,  65 


Webster,  223 

Westbrook,  Eliza,  40,  41,  46,  47,  51, 

52,  60,  62,  139,  142 
Westbrook,  Eliza,  Personal  appear- 
ance of,  52 
Westbrook,  Emily,  41 
Westbrook,  Harriet,  30,  41,  46,  47, 

48 
Westbrook,  John,  39,  142 
Westbrook,  Mr.,  49,  54 
Westbrooks,  139,  143 
Westbrooks  contest  Shelley's  rights 

to  children,  141 
"  White  Devil,"  by  Webster,  223 
Whitman,  Walt,  274 
William  Godwin,  57 
William  Morris,  133,  311,  279 
Williams,  282,  289,  290,  300,  302 
Williams,  Death  of,  304 
Williams,  Edward,  260,  275,  276  n. 
Williams  family,  287 
William  Shelley,  139,  184 
Wilhams,  Jane,  260,  275,  277,  285, 

288,  291,  292,  300 
With  a  Guitar,  285,  286 
Witch  of  Atlas,  231,  235,  239 
Wollstonecraft,  Mary,  73 
Wordsworth,    113,    122,    123,    130, 

155,   156,   190,   191,   195,   272, 

309,  310,  311 
Wordsworth's  "  Ode  to  Duty,"  22 

Xerxes,  269 

York,  51 

"  Zastrozzi,"  12,  58 
Zonoras,  10 


Printed  in  Great  Britain  by  Butler  &  Tanner,  Frome  and  London 


SHELLEY:   THE   MAN   ANr 

Troilus,  222  Webster, 

Turner,  Mrs.,  83  Westbrr 
Two  Spirits,  239  52 

Westb' 
University  College,  Oxford,  15  ai 

Unlikeness  of  Prometheus  Unbound  West1 

and  The  Cenci,  219  We? 
Unnatural  childhood,  8 

Untruths  in  Shelley's  letters,  58  W 

Urania,  261,  263  V 

Vacca,  225  ^ 

Vague    scheme    for    reduction    of 

National  Debt,  193 
Vegetarianism,  69,  131 
Venus,  232 
Verrocchio,  183 

Verses  written  at  Rhayader,  70 
Virgil,  273 

Visit  to  Cuckfield,  43 
Visit  to  House  of  Commons,  27 
Visit  to  Hunt,  137 
Vittoria  Corombona,  223 
Vivian,  Charles,  290 
Vivian,  Charles,  Death  of,  30 
Viviani,  Count,  241 
Viviani,   Teresa   Emilia,   ' 

277 
Voltaire,  22,  298 
Vulcan,  232 

Walt  Whitman,  27 
Wandering  Jew.  ' 
Waning  enthus-" 

ener,  74 
Warne,  Mic 
Warni** 


u 


(apwelL 
BOOKS 


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